


Eyes Without A Face

by GettinGrimey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bottom Rick Grimes, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Good Friend Shane Walsh, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettinGrimey/pseuds/GettinGrimey
Summary: Rick is severely injured in the line of duty and left disfigured. Repulsed by his appearance, he leaves everything and everyone he loved in Georgia behind, in favor of a solitary and reclusive life in the mountains of East Tennessee — until an extraordinary newcomer moves into the abandoned cabin next door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sophia is slightly younger here.

Rick whimpered pathetically under the heavy hand tightly clamped over his mouth. He stared up at his attacker, eyes filled with tears and panic, wordlessly pleading for his life. He couldn’t see the man’s face, his features were concealed by the shadows of his dark hood. But he could see the sharp blade held in his other hand, slowly inching toward his shivering flesh.

 

“How do you wanna die?”

 

The man’s menacing whispers sent shivers down Rick’s spine. He squeaked in fright as the knife point pressed against and dug into his throat, a muted “please” the only response he could provide.

 

“Answer me,” the faceless voice demanded, dragging the knife up his neck and over his jaw. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here. I don’t usually give my victims a choice, but you, well I kinda like you. So tell me, you want it slow and painful, which I admit, that is a favorite of mine, or do you want it fast and… _slightly_ less painful?”

 

Rick blinked away his tears, the taste of vomit churning up in the pit of his throat as his eyes followed the tip of the blade over his cheek. “Please,” he managed, his voice muffled with the palm pressing hard against his lips. “Please don’t kill me.”

 

“Wrong answer.”

 

Rick braced himself as the assailant raised the knife and brought it down hard, plunging it into his face and body repeatedly, slashing again and again until there was nothing left but blood and bone.

 

“ _No_!”

 

Rick bolted upright in bed, his deafening scream synchronized with the piercing wail of the alarm clock. His hands shot up instinctively, fingertips searching his face for evidence of the attack.

 

“Wha’ th’ hell?” A groggy voice occupying the other half of the bed called out in the dark “Rick? The hell’s happenin’?”

 

Realizing it was only a dream and that his face was still intact, Rick’s hand moved frantically to the nightstand, searching for the button to silence the blaring alarm. With the room finally quiet, he turned and crumpled into the safe harbor of his fiance’s arms, his body trembling and soaked with sweat.

 

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered, brushing the drenched curls out of Rick’s face. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. I got you.”

 

***

 

Dressed in his uniform, Rick sat at the breakfast table nursing a now very cold cup of coffee, one finger absentmindedly tracing the outline of the wood grain on the table's surface .

 

“Hey honey?” Spencer walked into the kitchen, digging through the catch-all basket on the bar, his periodic table necktie hanging untied around his neck and a pair of argyle socks thrown over his shoulder. “Have you seen my reading glasses? I just had them a minute ago when I was looking over my grade… book.”

 

Spencer looked up at his fiancé. His jaw was hard and his shoulders tense. The cold, distant look in his eyes worried him.

 

“You okay, Rick? You look like you’re a million miles away from here.”

 

“Your head,” Rick said quietly without looking up.

 

“What?”

 

“Your glasses. They’re on top of your head. They’re _always_ on top of your head.”

 

“ _Oh_.” Spencer lifted his eyes and chuckled, embarrassed. He reached up and — yeah, there they were. Exactly where he’d left them. “What would I do without you?”

 

Rick released a long, slow sigh. “What _would_ you do? I mean, if something happened to me.” His voice broke with a sob. “If something or someone took me away from you, would you go on? Find someone else? That-that’s what I’d want you to do. I’d want you to be happy.”

 

“What are you — is this about this morning?” Spencer sat down in front of him, taking his hand in his. “Baby, that was just a dream. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“No,” Spencer agreed, shaking his head. “I guess I don’t. But what I _do know_ , is that you’re here with me now. All I want to think about is spending the rest of my life with you. I love you with all my heart, Rick. No matter what, I’ll _always_ love you.”

 

Giving the hands that were holding his a squeeze and looking deep into the eyes of his husband-to-be, Rick smiled. “I love you, too. No matter what.”

 

***

 

“ _Two-hundred and fifty dollars_?” the woman shouted after snatching the speeding ticket out of Rick’s hand through her car window. “Are you kidding me? I was only going forty miles an hour!”

 

“Yeah, but you were going forty in a _twenty mile per hour_ school zone.”

 

“Couldn’t you just give me a warning this time?”

 

“What kind of warning do you need, ma’am? Me pulling a dead kindergartner out from underneath your tires? Just watch your speed and pay attention to where you are.”

 

“ _Nice_ ,” the speeder said sarcastically, her lips curling into a wicked smile as she eyed the name on Rick’s police badge. “Have a good day, Officer _Dick_ Grimes. I hope you choke on a donut.”

 

As Rick was walking back to his car, the sound of squealing tires filled the air. He turned around to see the little red Honda speeding off. By the time he reached his vehicle to go after her, his radio beeped.

 

_Dispatch: “134 - Report to 2903 Edgewater Street for crowd and traffic control at the scene of a house fire.”_

_Rick: “134 - Copy.”_

_Dispatch: “134 - Also, be advised that all fire personnel are at the scene of a large structural fire. They’ve been notified. All 20 minutes away.”_

_Rick: “134 - Copy. On my way. I’m about 10 minutes out from the residence”_

 

_***_

 

When Rick rounded the corner of Edgewater and saw the house, he silently cursed to himself. _Son_ _of a bitch_.

 

There were flames bursting from the rooftop and out of one of the second story bedroom windows, thick plumes of black smoke billowing up into the sky.

 

Officers Abraham Ford and Shane Walsh were already on the scene, on the front lawn attempting to subdue a woman with short, gray hair. She was frantic, screaming at the top of her lungs and fighting them both, determined to break free from their hold.

 

“Sophia!” she cried. “ _Sophia!_ ”

 

“What’d she say?” Rick asked walking up to the officers still struggling to keep their grip. “Ma’am. What did you say?”

 

“Sophia! My baby! She’s still inside!”

 

Abe looked at Shane, Shane looked at Rick and Rick looked at the house in horror, the flames reaching even higher now, building on themselves and spreading into the other rooms. He could feel the tremendous heat from where he stood. Could hear the sizzling, snapping and crackling sounds of the floorboards and roof-beams burning.

 

“My _God_ ,” Rick’s blood ran cold. “There’s a child in that house? How old is she?”

 

“She’s nine years old!” the hysterical woman sobbed. “Please let me go so I can get her out of there!”

 

“We can’t do that,” Rick explained. “It’s too dangerous.”

 

“How can you just leave her in there? She’ll never find her way out on her own? She’s just a child, she’s just a—.”

 

_Rick: “134 - I need a 10-77 for the fire on Edgewater. There’s a child trapped inside. The second floor looks to be fully engulfed.”_

_Dispatch: “Copy, 134. ETA is about eleven minutes.”_

_Rick: “134 - 10-78. Stat.”_

_Dispatch: “Copy, 134.”_

 

Eleven minutes. Rick looked back at the house. Sophia didn’t have eleven minutes. He knew what he had to do.

 

“Ma’am.” Rick put his hands on the woman’s shoulders. “ _Ma’am_ . You wanna tell me your name?”  
  
“C-Carol.”

 

“Okay, Carol. Listen to me. I’m going inside your house. And I’m—”

 

“ _No_.” Shane cut him off. “There’s no way Abe and me are gonna watch you walk straight inside the gates of Hell.”

 

“ _And…”_ Rick continued, as if he were deaf to Shane’s words. “I’m bringing your daughter out. Alive.”

 

“Man, I don’t think you heard me. We’re waiting on the fire department. Now that’s a goddamn order.”

 

“Carol. I’m making you a promise. I’ll get your little girl out of that house. You watch for me to carry her out that front door. Okay?”

 

Carol clasped her hands over her face, a medley of tears, tears of gratitude, tears of hope, tears of fear and dread, slowly trickled through her thin, trembling fingers.

 

“ _Rick_ ,” Abe started, but after meeting his eyes, he knew it was pointless to argue with him. “Let’s you and me go kick that fire right up its own ass and save that little girl.”

 

“Thanks but… I’m doing this alone.”

 

***

 

The heat was intense. The house was already so full of thick smoke, Rick couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. Untucking his shirt, he jerked it up enough to cover his mouth and nose to keep from breathing it in.

 

The fire was eating its way down the wall to his right, devouring the framed pictures where they hung in a matter of seconds. Crouching down, he made his way through the first room, searching frantically for the little girl.

 

“Sophia? My name is Rick Grimes! I’m a police officer, sweetheart! I’m here to help you! Listen to me! I need you to call out and let me know where you are! Your mama is outside waiting for you! Sophia!”

 

The further he went, the thicker the smoke became. The fumes burned his eyes, making it that much harder to see. His thin uniform shirt proved to be useless as the smoke started to filter through, entering his nostrils. He held his breath as long as he could until it was absolutely necessary to refill his lungs. The minute he did, he started coughing and choking, the smoke burning his throat and chest.

 

He could hear the sounds of complete destruction above him, beams and furniture crashing to the floor. He knew it was only a matter of time before everything caved in on them. Dropping down to his hands and knees, he was able to avoid the majority of the dark, toxic cloud above him. Crawling and keeping his head low, he made it to the next room.

 

“Sophia! Please! I promised your mama I’d bring you out! _Please_ call out to me!”

 

Rick’s head jerked toward the sound of a weak cry. Then a cough. _She’s still alive!_

 

“Keep making noises, sweetheart! I’m here! We’re gonna make it outside!”

 

“Over here,” she called out. “I’m over here. Please help me. I'm scared.”

 

The faster Rick crawled, the louder the voice got. He was going in the right direction.

 

“Over here!”

 

Getting down on his belly, Rick was able to see a few feet in front of him. “I can see you, honey! I’m almost there!” He couldn’t hold back the tears when he finally caught a glimpse of that little freckled face. She was sprawled out flat in the floor, protecting her lungs from the smoke, hiding under the kitchen table.

 

“Come on,” Rick said softly, reaching his hand out for hers. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

 

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Rick jumped up and tore his shirt off. Wrapping the fabric around her head, he scooped her up in his arms, buried her face against his chest and ran like hell.

 

***

 

“Oh God,” Carol sobbed, keeping her eyes locked on the waves of smoke rushing out of the front door. “It’s been too long. My Sophia. My baby.”

 

“Listen,” Shane insisted. “I know Rick Grimes. If anyone can get your little girl out of that house, it’d be—”

 

“Mommy!”

 

All three whipped their heads up to see Rick, his bare upper body covered in sweat-streaked soot, running toward them, holding Sophia safe and sound in his arms.

 

Still sobbing, Carol fell to her knees, overcome with the feeling of intense relief. “Oh thank God,” she cried as Rick put her daughter down and she ran into her arms.

 

“Need - to get - her checked out - for smoke - inhalation.” Rick was gasping for air, having held his breath for so long while running.

 

“Sounds like we need to get you both checked out my friend,” Shane said, rubbing Rick's back. “You done good, man. This is what it’s all about. Hell yeah! Come on Ford. Help me move these rubberneckers back so we can get an ambulance in here for these two.”

 

“How will I ever be able to repay you?” Carol asked Rick, rocking her daughter in her arms. “She’s all I’ve got left in this world.”

 

“It’s my job,” Rick told her as he shrugged his shirt back on, fastening the buttons. “It’s what I get paid to—”

 

“Eliza!” Sophia screamed, proving her lungs were in good working order. “Oh mommy! I left Eliza under the table! She’ll die!”

 

“Who is Eliza?” Rick asked looking back at the burning house, the sound of sirens in the distance.

 

“My doll,” Sophia cried, trying to run back into the house. “She’s my best friend.”

 

“We’ll get you a _new_ doll,” Carol said, trying but failing to comfort her hysterical daughter. “You can get any doll you want.”

 

Rick knew the notion was stupid. He should just put it out of his head right now. It was just a doll.

 

But Sophia’s tears kept coming. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was running back toward the house.

 

 _It’s a straight shot_ , he told himself _. I can be in and out in a couple minutes._

 

When he re-entered the house, the flames had spread across the front room, no longer making it a straight shot into the kitchen. As he made his way around the fire, a flaming beam fell down from the ceiling, blocking his path even further.

 

This was stupid. He was risking his life for a doll. He thought about Spencer. About his dream. Their discussion this morning about what he would do without him. As he turned back around to leave, he heard Sophia, she was still crying for her doll.

 

_Shit._

 

His heart was too soft to let that little girl down. After what she just went through and would _still_ have to endure now that she and her mother were homeless, she would need her best friend.

 

Turning back around and keeping himself close to the ground, he dodged the flames and made it back to the kitchen. _Come here, Eliza. You goddamn troublemaker._ Coughing and sputtering, he snatched the doll and gripped it between his teeth as he crawled back out toward the front door.

 

The smoke was too much. It billowed around him, closing him in and confusing him. Tears poured from his stinging eyes as he crawled, searching for a way out.

 

Finally, the smoke changed direction and he could see outside. But the door was now a flaming outline of a rectangle. He could hear Shane and Abraham screaming his name, pleading for him to answer them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t open his mouth and risk dropping Sophia’s doll. He kept crawling until there was enough of a clearing through the smoke for him to stand.

 

Just as he stood, part of the ceiling collapsed behind him, then another section, followed by another.

 

He had no choice. Holding his breath, he made a dash for the door, Spencer and Sophia’s faces driving him through the flames that ignited his clothes as he ran out. Throwing the ragdoll to safety, he fell to the ground, screaming in agony as the heat penetrated and melted his flesh.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Rick’s eyes fluttered, his heavy lids resisting his feeble attempts to open them. “I think we overslept.” His throat was painfully dry, his speech slurred as if he were heavily intoxicated. “Spencer? Baby, where are you?”

 

Forcing his eyes open to a squint, Rick slowly came to the realization that he was _not_ in the bed he shared with his fiancé, and this was certainly not their home. He tried to sit up, but a violent jolt of pain on the right side of his body sent him back against the unfamiliar bed with a hiss.

 

The sudden sensation of something squeezing his arm startled him. Glancing down, he saw the black band of a blood pressure cuff, tightly constricting his left bicep. The repetitive _beep-beep-beep_ sound to the left of him forced him to turn his head in that direction. The image was blurry. He blinked until he brought the numbers and wavy squiggles of the vital signs monitor into focus. He was in a hospital? But _why?_ What had happened to him?

 

“Spencer stepped out for a few minutes.”

 

Rick recognized the voice and turned his head to see his fellow officer and friend, Shane, sitting vigilant in a chair by his bed. The bedside table behind him was loaded with flowers, stuffed animals and _Get Well Soon_ mylar balloons.

 

“He went to get something to eat. Two weeks of living on the shit they try to pass off as food in this damn place was wrecking his gut. Welcome back, man.” Shane’s smile was warm, but his eyes, there was something different there, an underlying sadness or worry. “Spencer’s gonna have a damn fit when he finds out you woke up while he was gone.”

 

Rick looked down at his heavily bandaged arm. With questioning eyes in search of an answer, he looked back to Shane.

 

“You remember what happened to you?”

 

Rick shook his head, confusion and concern etched in his eyes.

 

“Here.” Shane leaned over the bed and placed something soft in his good hand. “Maybe this’ll ring some bells for you.”

Rick held it up for a closer inspection, a puzzled look wrinkling half of his face. It was a doll. A _ragdoll_ , with a dirty face and a little pink, gingham dress that looked scorched. Almost like it had been burned in a—

 

The doll. The _fire_. The memories were flooding back to him now, bright images sweeping into his mind. He had gone back into the burning house for Sophia’s doll.

 

“The little girl?” Rick swallowed, desperate to wet his parched throat. “Is she—did she?”  
  
“She’s right as rain, brother. Didn’t have a scratch on her. You saved her life. She and her mama have been here everyday to see you. Left her little dolly here to comfort you when you woke up.”

 

Rick grew quiet for a moment, attentively running his thumb over the singed edges of the doll’s dress and hair.

 

“How bad is it?”

 

“N-Now Rick, it ain't nowhere near as bad as it _could_ have been.”

 

Rick closed his eyes, flashbacks of the fire darting through his mind like meteors in the night sky. The smoke was so vivid and so real, the acrid smell of ashes was in his nose again, the taste of it on his tongue. He could see the flames, feel the intense heat as he stood inside that house once more, staring at his only way out. He recalled the blood curdling screams in the distance from Carol and Sophia, watching in horror as Abraham threw him to the ground, frantically rolling his body back and forth to put out the fire.

 

“How bad is it?” he repeated, desperate for the truth.

 

“There ain’t no way to sugarcoat this shit, Rick. So I’m just gonna lay it on the line, alright?” Shane sighed and hesitated a moment before pulling back the white hospital blanket, revealing that the heavy bandages that covered his arm, also covered most of the right side of his body. “A little over forty percent of your body, front and back from your knee up, mostly third degree burns.”

 

Pain and disbelief registered on Rick's face as he surveyed what had to be miles of white sterile gauze, wrapping around and covering nearly half of his body.

 

While the left side of his body and genitals were left unscathed, he could only imagine what kind of hellish destruction lay hidden beneath those sheets of cotton on the right.

 

Taking a deep breath and using his unbandaged hand, he reached up to his face. He wasn’t too surprised to find the oxygen tube that was inserted in his nose, but when his fingers were met with a thick layer of gauze and tape covering the right side of his neck and cheek, he crumbled. Whatever was left of him, fell apart right there in front of his friend. “Oh, God. I can’t do this, Shane. I _can’t_. I’d rather be dead.”

 

“Now you stop that shit!” Shane snapped. “You hear me? You stop that shit _right now_!”

 

Rick recoiled, shrinking back against his pillow as his eyes overflowed with unbidden, uncontrollable tears.

 

“Shit, Rick.” Shane rubbed the back of his head and lowered his tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up at you, man, especially _now_.” He pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat back down, his dark eyes sparkling with rare tears. “But I can't have you talking like that. Not after we all thought—thought that you weren't gonna—”

 

Rick had never seen Shane like this before. He had never seen him cry. He hadn’t given any thought to what this must have been like for everyone else, especially those who witnessed it first-hand.

 

“It wasn’t your time to die. You still got your life to live. Maybe even save a few more before it’s all said and done. I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, hell I know it won’t be. But you gotta do the best you can with the hand you been dealt, brother. No matter how goddamned unfair it seems. If not for yourself, then you do it for the people who love you. You know everybody on the force has your back and that any of us would do whatever it takes to help you. And what about Spencer? You really wanna leave _him_ behind?”

 

Rick recalled their conversation at the breakfast table the morning before the fire, Spencer’s words replaying in his mind. _All I want to think about is spending the rest of my life with you. I love you with all my heart, Rick. No matter what, I’ll always love you._

 

_No matter what._

 

Rick, his eyes still blurred with tears, stared up at the sterile white ceiling with its dangling medical tubes and bright lights. He had woken up neck deep in the pits of hell and couldn’t see a way out, his life completely changed forever. But Spencer’s words, his promise to be there for him no matter what, shined like a bright light in this new, dark and scary world. He knew, with his love and encouragement, that he could find the strength to do _anything_.

 

***

 

Rick was flown to the Joseph M. Still Burn Center in Augusta, Georgia where he spent a total of forty-five days healing, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

 

He required electrolytes and antibiotics around the clock intravenously, to prevent dehydration and infection. He spent a lot of time in a stainless steel tub where he underwent special cleaning procedures called debriding, to remove as much of the dead skin and tissue as possible.

 

In the beginning, he suffered with panic attacks. His lungs would feel as if they had shut down and disappeared altogether, leaving him unable to take a deep breath and supply his brain with a sufficient amount of oxygen. He thought his heart would explode right out of his chest and black spots would dart into his vision. The doctors all agreed that these attacks were a direct result due to the combination of traumatic, alienating and demoralizing experiences Rick had suffered.

 

But, little by little, day by day, everyday life became a little less painful, a little less bleak, coming to terms with the way things were or were to be and accepting them.

 

His days went by quickly. He was kept busy with surgeries, treatments, doctors, pain management and therapy. But his nights, when he was alone and everything was quiet and still, that’s when things got scary.

 

He developed a ritual of talking to Spencer on the phone every night for a couple of hours. His voice, his words of comfort helped him sleep without the use of heavy sedatives.

 

“But I miss you,” Rick sobbed into the receiver. “I wanna come home.”

 

“Baby,” Spencer whispered into the phone. “Don't cry. Listen to me. I want you to close those pretty blue eyes of yours. Are they closed?”

 

Rick shut his eyes, his dark lashes wet with his unshed tears. “Yeah. They’re closed.”

 

“I’m walking through your door right now. Can you smell my cologne? You know, the one you like so much?”

 

Rick drew a deep breath in through his nose, the warm, spicy scent he missed so badly, began to filter through. “I can smell it.”

 

“I’m climbing into that hospital bed with you. Can you feel my love for you? Warming your body? Filling you up?”

 

Rick, his breathing steady now and his tears beginning to dry, _could_ feel it. A hundred and fifty miles between them and he could still feel Spencer’s heart touching his. “I can feel it.” His voice was growing faint, the mere hint of a whisper as he drifted closer and closer to sleep. “I can feel _you_. You’re right here with me.”

 

“I sure am. I’m wrapping my arms around you, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Rick. I’m gonna be right here with you. I won’t let go. No matter what, I’ll never let go.”

 

***

 

“Knock, knock. Anybody home?”

 

Rick, sitting up in his hospital bed, looked up from the thick book in his hand. “Shane? That you?”

 

Shane stuck his head in the door, a smug smile spreading across his face. “You know anybody else this good looking who’s willing to drive four hours round trip just to bring you home?” He opened the door and walked inside carrying an overnight bag with Rick’s clothes and a pair of sneakers.

 

“ _Home_ ,” Rick echoed, a growing smile splitting his face as he dogeared his book page and put it down on the bed beside him.

 

Shane mirrored his smile as he took a seat in the recliner by the bed. “You look good, man. A hell of a lot better than you did last time I saw you. And you got your bandages off. I bet that shit feels better.”

 

“Yeah. The last ones came off a few days ago. I feel pretty good.” Rick threw his blanket back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll feel even better once I get some actual clothes on.”

 

Shane noticed him struggling, just slightly, with his right arm and leg. “You need some help with that, man?”

 

“No,” he grimaced as his bare feet made contact with the cold tile floor. “I’m alright. My muscles, they... they’re always a little stiff after I first wake up or if I sit too long. I just got lost in my book and I… I forgot to stretch.”

 

Rick stood facing the mirror with his back to Shane. “You mind handing me my—” The last word died on his tongue as the hospital gown hit the floor. He stared at his reflection, the same old blue eyes as before stared back, but his _body_... it just wasn’t his body anymore.

 

The scar tissue, dark root-like lesions that patterned the right side of his bare chest, hip and abdomen. The disfigured skin, clumped and melted areas on both his right arm and leg. The tendrils of damaged flesh that covered the right side of his neck and crawled up over part of his cheek.

 

With his lips flattened in disgust, Rick swallowed against a strong surge of nausea as he closed his eyes, blocking out the image of the unrecognizable man who stood in front of him. Feeling a hand lay against his shoulder, he looked up to see Shane’s reflection beside his.

 

“I’m alright,” he whispered. “I just—”

 

“I don’t know what you see when _you_ look in that mirror, but what _I_ see, is one hell of a story. A story about how life tried to take you out, but failed. The fires of hell, oh they’re strong, Rick, yes they are. But you, you’re stronger. You’ve already proven that. You survived.” Shane chuckled, giving Rick’s shoulder a friendly nudge. “Oh, Reverend Shane’s preaching to you now, boy.”

 

A small smile touched Rick’s mouth. His watery eyes twinkled as that smile grew into a quiet laugh.

 

“That’s what I’m talking about. That’s what I wanna hear.” Shane turned Rick around to face him. Cupping the back of his head in his hands, he pressed their foreheads together. “These ain’t scars,” he said. “They’re tattoos, brother. _Badass_ tattoos that are gonna help tell your story.”

 

***

 

Rick paced anxiously around the living room, glancing repetitively out the picture window that overlooked the driveway. Spencer was due home from work soon. He hadn’t told him he was coming home today. Whether he kept it a secret to surprise him or give him less time to think about him being home again, he wasn’t sure.

 

 _Dammit._ All the waiting, watching and pacing he was doing was enough to make him come unhinged. He checked the time on his watch once more before he wandered up the stairs.

 

Rick smiled when he stepped inside the master bathroom. Spencer’s olive green henley and khakis were laying on top of the dirty clothes hamper. Rick picked the shirt up and held it to his nose, breathing in his fiancé’s intoxicating scent before laughing out loud. How many times had Spencer gotten on _his_ case for leaving his clothes on top of the hamper? _Look Rick,_ he could hear him, see Spencer opening the hamper vividly in demonstration. _Look how easy this is. Dirty clothes go_ inside _the hamper._

 

Stopping at the door frame of their bedroom, Rick fixed his eyes on the bed, _their bed_ , his side still made. His mind drifted back to that hospital. So many nights he had craved to be here under those warm covers, Spencer’s chest pressed against his back and his arms wrapped securely around his waist. All the nights he had slept alone with only the sound of his voice through the phone to bring him comfort.

 

A tranquil smile graced his face because he knew, tonight, he would _not_ be sleeping alone.

 

The sound of Spencer’s squeaky rear brakes stopping in the driveway sent Rick’s heart straight up into his throat. He was home. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,_ he repeated inside his head as he made his way down the stairs, both banisters creaking as he clung to them for support. He was halfway down the second set of stairs when the front door opened, his breath seizing in his throat when he finally caught sight of the face he’d been missing.

 

Spencer was carrying a stack of books and papers in the crook of one arm as he struggled to get the key out of the door with the other. “No,” he argued, shutting the door with his foot. Friday’s no good. I’ve got parent/teacher conferences all day that day. If I move a few things around, I might be able to get to it by next—” The phone he was gripping between his ear and shoulder hit the carpeted floor with a dull thunk when he turned around, seeing his husband-to-be standing on the staircase.

 

“ _Rick_.” Spencer stumbled backwards, one step, two, until his body found something solid to lean against as he stared in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?”

 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Rick whispered through trembling lips. “I missed you so much.”

 

Everything Spencer had carried into the house with him was dropped, ungraded test papers cast aside, flying in all directions as he raced across the room and bolted up the staircase, stopping two steps short of tackling him. “God, I want to hold you, kiss you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

With a small smile, Rick shook his head. “The only way you could hurt me is by _not_ kissing me right this second.”

 

Spencer closed the small space between them. With his gaze fixed on Rick’s lips, he buried his fingers in the mane of soft curls and leaned in, kissing him with an urgent want he had never shown before, its warmth and passion making Rick forget about everything before this moment.

 

“Make love to me,” he moaned, tilting his head back, desperate to feel those lips on his neck again. “Right here, right now. Please, baby. I need you.”

 

How could anyone argue with that? With desire, hot and undeniable, Spencer dropped his lips to Rick’s neck, nibbling at the tender spot below his ear that made him weak. The spot that made his blood boil inside his veins.

 

Leaving a series of wet kisses over the left side of his neck and throat, Spencer went to work on the other side, but when his lips connected with the rough scars that now marred the once smooth flesh on the right, he jerked back with an audible gasp.

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Rick assured him with a smile that was all dimples and eye crinkles. “There’s no pain.”

 

“It’s not that,” Spencer lied as he backed down the stairs, putting distance between the two of them with each step. “I-I just remembered that I’ve got a ton of papers that have to be graded for tomorrow morning. _Tonight_? Can we-can we do this tonight?”

 

Swallowing his disappointment, Rick nodded, giving him a patient, understanding smile. “I’ve waited this long. What’s a few more hours?”

 

***

 

Dressed only in a pair of blue boxer shorts, Rick sat up in bed, reading his book. When he looked up to give his eyes a break from the fine print, he glanced over to the clock. 11:45. He was exhausted, but he didn’t want to go to sleep yet. He wanted to stay awake until Spencer came to bed.

 

He looked at the clock again. He couldn’t believe he was _still_ grading papers. Just as he put his book on the bedside table to go see if he was about ready to come to bed, the door creaked open.

 

“It’s late,” Spencer said as he unbuttoned his shirt, avoiding eye contact with Rick’s naked upper body. “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

 

“No. I waited up for you. You said earlier that we—”

 

“I know what I said, Rick. But you just got out of the hospital. I’m just not sure you’re ready for that yet.”

 

“Oh,” Rick said, pulling the blanket back and revealing not only the massive tent in his boxers, but the dark scars that decorated half of his body. “I’m more than ready.”

 

Spencer turned away, disgust clearly evident on his face.

 

Rick, ashamed, pulled the blanket back up to recover his body. "It’s still me, Spencer. I’m still the same person. You’ll get used to it.”

 

“Have you?” Spencer’s words cut deep. “You’ve had nearly two months to get used to this. I’ve had a few hours.”

 

Rick said nothing, silent tears streaked shiny tracks down his face.

 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Rick. That’s the last thing I wanna do. But, maybe it would be best if you take the other bedroom for a while.”

 

Rick dropped his face into his palms. “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore. I can’t. When I’m alone and I close my eyes, I’m right back in that house, Spencer. Don’t do this to me. Don’t send me away when I need you the most. We’ll get through this.”

 

“I’m trying to say this as gently as I can, but you’re not making it easy. I’m sorry.” There wasn't a hint of any true regret in his voice. “I can’t do this. If I can see you, if I have to look at you... I just can’t. Jesus, what did you think? Your body. It just looks so… so different. No. I will _never_ get used to this.”

 

The sting in Spencer’s words burned more viciously than the flames that made him this way. Pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin, Rick hid his scars. Hid himself. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. ”I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

 

Spencer said nothing else as he stood by the door with his arms crossed, waiting for him to leave.

 

Using his stiffened muscles to push himself to edge of the bed, Rick got to his feet. On his way out of the bedroom that he was no longer welcome in, he felt like a monster. Shame and humiliation ripped a hole in his stomach. By the time he made it to the bathroom, the sickening taste of bile had already clawed its way into his throat.

 

_All I want to think about is spending the rest of my life with you. I love you with all my heart, Rick. No matter what, I’ll always love you._

 

Falling to his knees in front of the toilet, Rick vomited.

 


	3. Chapter 3

After nearly six weeks of feeling like an unwanted guest in his own home, the home he once shared happily with his fiancé, Rick decided it was time to move on. He had hoped, in time, that Spencer would be able to accept the changes to his body. That he could look at him and see past the scars. 

 

He was optimistic. Holding onto the hope that, one day, Spencer would wake up and realize how wrong he had been. That the proverbial light bulb would just  _ go off  _ in his brain and it would finally register with him. That he would remember that true love, it isn’t skin deep. It isn’t superficial.

 

But that day, it never came.

 

He knew, as he watched the relief flood Spencer’s eyes when he told him he was leaving, that he had made the right decision. That moment was just as painful, if not more so, as the very flames that had licked his skin away. 

 

“You can keep the house,” Rick said with a painful crack in his voice, unable to meet Spencer’s eyes. “If I can have the cabin.”

 

The cabin, nestled deep in the woods of the Smoky Mountains, was the place they first met and fell in love years ago when they were invited by mutual friends to spend the summer there. Every time they would go back, Rick would fall more in love with the place. The panoramic views of endless rows of velvet blue hills in the distance. The intense sunrises, casting the sky with brilliant hues of violets, pinks and a blazing orange, transforming into the most beautiful shade of powder blue you’ve ever laid eyes on. And that constant cool mountain breeze, the way it ruffled his hair and filled his lungs with sweetest air in the world. It called his name. 

 

But he had never heard it calling him quite as loudly as it was now. He knew it would hurt like hell to go back there alone, to  _ be there  _ alone. But he also knew that being alone, it was exactly what he needed. He had convinced himself—that it was what everyone needed. 

 

After getting approved for his medical retirement, Rick took his share of their joint bank account and sold everything he could, including his new truck. The 1967 Chevy pickup sitting in the garage now was supposed to be a weekend hobby. His dream was to restore it, turning it into the classic beauty he always knew it was destined to be. But now, now he only hoped it would get him to the mountains.

 

He didn’t bother to wake Spencer the morning he left. He slipped the engagement ring off of his finger, quietly leaving it on the entryway table by the door with his house keys. 

 

***

 

Leaning back against the soft green bed of the riverbank, Rick dropped his line back in the water. He closed his eyes, listening to the melody of the magnolia warblers in the trees around him. Joining the birds in song was a myriad of crickets and katydids, all backed up by the deep bass croaking of a lone bullfrog. 

 

But no matter how deafening life sang out around him, it was never quite loud enough to drown out the sounds in his head. Memories—some good, some bad—they were everywhere he turned. 

 

He could still hear the laughter he and Spencer shared over Sunday morning pancakes. The dulcet tones of pleasure and passion that poured from their bedroom as they made love. The bittersweet memories of silly little arguments like who had the remote control last or whose turn it was to take out the trash.

 

But the kind memories, the ones that made him smile, they always faded at night, eclipsed by the cruel, tormenting reminders of that wall—that unspeakable wall of fire that still burned just as hot—holding him captive behind it with no way out. 

 

 _The fire is out,_ _the fire is out, the fire is out,_ he reminded himself constantly, but the images, the sounds of that day still kept him awake at night. From the incessant sounds of him screaming in excruciating pain, to the merciless flames that were always raging behind his closed eyelids. He couldn’t escape it. 

 

Six months. He had been here six months, and each day felt more like a year than a mere twenty-four hours. Even when he was in the hospital—the minutes, the days, the weeks—they clicked away and time moved on. But that was when he had Spencer’s promise to hold on to. The promise of his undying love. 

 

They say that time heals all pain, and maybe, well maybe that was true for some. But Rick, he was certain now that his would never mend. He had to accept it. This was his life now. The paradise he once held in his hand was dead and gone. He would never be that happy again.

 

The strong tug on his fishing pole broke him out of his reverie. He wiped his eyes and reeled in another bass, stringing it up with the other two dozen on his line. His catch was well above the daily bag limit, but there was never anyone around with the authority to reprimand him for it.

 

With the air heavy, rich with the promise of rain soon, he decided to call it a day. Pulling on his hooded trench coat, he concealed his face behind its nose-high collar and yanked the heavy line of fish out of the water, slinging it over his shoulder.

 

***

 

_ You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey _

_ You're as sweet as strawberry wine _

_ You're as warm as a glass of brandy _

_ And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time _

 

Hearing the music before he cleared the edge of the woods, the bluesy chords of the guitar riff echoing through the hills and valleys, Rick stopped, hiding himself behind a tree, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

 

Other than the handful of snot-nosed, unsupervised kids who venture up to his property to harass him from time to time, he’s had this mountainside all to himself for the last six months. But now there was a big, bright yellow moving truck parked in front of the vacant cabin beside his. 

 

“Come on, you contrary piece of shit!” The stranger’s big voice rang out high above the trees while he struggled to get his matte black Hellcat unattached from the tow dolly. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my fucking ass cheek ever since I left Virginia!”  

 

With his rough language and quirky mannerisms, Rick already had him figured for a quick-tempered loudmouth, easily provoked but quickly forgotten as he had gone from being red in the face, screaming at the top of his lungs at a piece of equipment, to whistling cheerfully again to the music blaring from his car.

 

Judging by his black hair and his salt and pepper beard—which was more pepper than salt—Rick estimated him to be in his early to mid-forties. His legs were long and lanky, but he was thicker around his arms and chest. Then again, the bulky black leather jacket he had on might have had something to do with that.

 

Feeling the heavy weight on his shoulder, Rick was reminded of his fish and the work that went with it. He had to get them home, get them cleaned and into his freezer before their insides started to rot. He wasn’t going to let this newcomer get between him and his free, month long supply of fresh fish.

 

He tried to be quiet about it, attempting to tiptoe past the moving truck unnoticed so he could slip inside the seclusion of his cabin, but he stepped on a twig, the crack of the wood sounding more like a small explosion in the relative silence of the surrounding woodland.

 

“ _ Ho-ly _ crap!” The man shouted, looking up and clutching at his chest, twisting the leather lapels of his jacket up in his fist. “You are creepy as shit sneaking up on me in that fucking angel of death costume.”

 

“I-I-I wasn’t sneaking up on you,” Rick stammered, gesturing toward his cabin with the end of his fishing rod. “I was just walking home. And it’s a  _ coat _ , not a costume.” 

 

_ He’s handsome _ , Rick thought, surprising himself—even if he was acting like an asshole over nothing. He looked away quickly when the stranger’s cheeks dimpled deep with an amused expression. Yes, he  _ was _ quite handsome, in a rugged, dangerously smooth kind of way. His lazy, whiskey-brown eyes sparkled effortlessly with his oh-so-easy, full-of-bullshit smile. 

 

“So,” Rick was trying his best to make friendly conversation. “You’re moving in?”

 

“Nah,” the man grunted out of pure frustration, going back to his tug of war with the tow dolly. “I thought I'd just pack up everything I own so I could drive up here to the fucking great wide open and sleep in the back of a moving truck. What the hell do you think?”

 

Okay. So he  _ is  _ an asshole. Dropping his head, Rick nodded his goodbye and ambled his way through the fallen leaves and limbs covering the ground.

 

“Hey, wait a minute.”

 

Hearing his feet hit the ground, Rick stopped walking, the sound of leaves crunching and twigs cracking under them as he ran to catch up.

 

“Listen. I’m sorry about that. I’m uh, I’m just having some shitty luck with these goddamn tire straps. Damn things have given me nothing but trouble. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

 

Rick looked up and nodded, accepting the man’s apology.

 

“You got a name in there, mountain man?” he teased, peeking inside the hood of Rick’s coat. “Or are you just a pair of killer blue eyes without a face?”

 

“Rick,” he answered quietly, taking a full step back to regain his comfort distance. “Rick Grimes.”

 

“Well  _ hellooo _ , Rick. I’m Negan. And I don’t want you getting the wrong impression about me. I’m not a bad guy at all. I’ve just got a short fuse when I’m stressed—and be-fucking-lieve me when I tell you—right now I am stressed to the fucking tiptop. I can’t get my car off of that damn trailer.”

 

“Have you tried to release your tension?”

 

Negan smiled broadly, baring his pearly white teeth. “Mmm. There’s only one thing I can think of that helps me release tension.”

 

The whites of Rick’s eyes grew huge. “Th-the straps,” he stuttered. “I’m-I’m talking about the tire straps. You gotta release the tension with the ratchet on the back before you can take them off. That’s how it was when we used one.”

 

_ “We?” _ Negan questioned, squinting his eyes. “You a married man, Rick? Shit, I bet you even got a couple of ankle biters in there, too. Am I right?”

 

Feeling his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach, Rick closed his eyes. “I’m not married.”

 

“You shacking up with someone?” 

 

“No,” Rick whispered, shaking his head. “No, it’s just me. I’m alone.” His voice broke. He paused long enough to choke back his tears. “I gotta go. Gotta take care of these fish. I’ll see ya.”

 

***

 

Rick was standing in his kitchen, his bare feet flat against the cool southern pine floor beneath him. His work surface was covered in smelly fish heads, entrails, bones and silvery scales. He wrapped and taped the last of the filets, labeling them with the date before packing them into his freezer.

 

As he stood there, admiring his impressive haul of free food, there was a knock at his door.  _ Shit, _ he thought.  _ Did I remember to lock the door?  _ The answer to that question came with a booming voice calling out from his living room.

 

“Rick? You home?”

 

He looked around the kitchen in a panic. There was nothing in sight to cover his face with. 

 

“Goddamn your place is sweet.” Negan noticed a group of framed pictures sitting on a shelf by the door, all consisting of the same two men. The first was a candid shot of a cute guy with dark brown eyes looking at something to his left. The other man, shorter, better looking, had his lips pressed against his cheek, his brown curls barely visible underneath his red and white baseball cap. In another picture, the brown-eyed man looked to be whispering something in the other man’s ear. He was laughing hysterically, both eyes drawn tight and his mouth wide open. Negan couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“Rick?” Negan wandered deeper into the cabin. “I don’t mean to barge in on you, but I noticed you had some lemon trees out front.”

 

Hearing the voice as it grew closer—and not knowing what else to do—Rick grabbed a handful of the bloody fish guts, smearing it all over the scarred side of his face. 

 

“There you are. I was just wonder—” Negan stopped dead in his tracks. “Whoa. I had no fucking clue you were such a looker, Rick.”

 

Rick glanced up, keeping his head down as much as he could as he pretended to wipe up the mess in front of him. “What did you need? I’m a kinda in the middle of something here.”

  
  
“I can see that.” Negan walked behind him, wetting the corner of a dish towel with warm water. Let me get this. It’s a little hard to talk to you when you look like you’ve been eating the ass-end out of Jaws.”

 

“No don’t—”

 

“Shh,” Negan soothed, putting his hand on the back of his neck, his soft brown curls slipping between his fingers. “It’ll only take me a second if you’ll just hold still.”

 

“Please,” Rick begged, tears beginning to pool in his pleading eyes. “Don’t.”

 

Paying him no mind, Negan wiped the pungent blood and guts off of his cheek, carefully pulling two silvery fish scales out of the hair around his ear. 

 

Rick watched in horror as Negan studied his face carefully. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear how disgusting he looked. Didn’t want to hear that he looked better with the fish guts  _ on  _ his face. 

 

“Goddamn,” Negan said finally, his fingers lingering on Rick’s skin as he traced the line of his jaw. “Your face.”

 

“I know.” Rick whispered, his eyes finding the floor in shame. “It’s—”

 

“It’s gorgeous.”

 

Rick, thinking he had misunderstood him, looked up, searching the man’s eyes for the truth. “What did you say?”

 

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Rick. Hell, if I had known I was gonna be moving in next door to Mr. GQ himself, I would have done it years ago.”

 

Rick’s breath rushed from his lungs as those four words sank in. _ You’re fucking gorgeous, Rick  _ resonated with every beat of his pounding heart. He couldn’t believe it. 

 

“Listen,” Negan said, walking over to the kitchen window. “I saw your lemon trees out there. I was wondering if I could swipe a few. I’d fucking kill for a glass of homemade lemonade right now.” He sucked a sharp breath in between his teeth. “Damn I can almost taste it. Ice cold with juicy bits of pulp floating in it.  _ Mmm _ .”

 

“Sure,” Rick smiled. “Take as many as you want.” 

 

“I think you and me, we’re gonna get along just fine.” 

 

Rick watched out the window as Negan plucked ripe lemon after ripe lemon, shoving as many as he could fit into the rolled hem of his white t-shirt. He reached a hand up to his face, remembering the warmth, the tenderness of his touch. “Me too,” he whispered, putting his other hand on the window pane. “Me, too.”

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The light in the east sky was fading fast as the black of night crept in slowly, chasing the sun away, giving the first evening stars there moment to twinkle and shine. Rick sat in the creaky, weather-worn rocking chair on his front porch, listening as the sounds of the evening came to life around him. Night birds, calling from the trees that surrounded the cabin, dominated the chilly, late September air. The distant sound of a lone coyote, howling and yapping from somewhere up in the hills, ever hopeful of having his call answered by another. And a new sound, the sound of someone’s voice—singing, whistling, even swearing occasionally—joined in the mix tonight. 

 

He looked over to his left at the newly occupied cabin, nearly every window glowing with a warm yellow light. He hadn’t seen Negan since he left with his shirttail full of lemons this morning. He wondered what he was doing right now. 

 

Reaching up, he smoothed his fingers over the rough patch of skin on his cheek as he thought about what he had said to him in his kitchen. Had he really meant it? Did he honestly see him that way, or was he simply being nice in that patronizing, condescending, pat-you-on-the-back kind of way?

 

Rick quickly sat back in his chair and looked the other direction when he heard the storm door squeak open before slapping shut, the sound of footfalls coming closer and closer to his property.

 

“Hey, neighbor.” Emerging out of the darkness, Negan welcomed himself up on Rick’s porch and leaned his long frame against the railings, folding his arms across his chest with a complacent smile. “I’d like a chance to repay you for the lemons earlier. I’ve uh… I’ve cooked up a big ass pot of the world’s best spaghetti, and I was hoping you would join me. It’s way too much food for one person.”

 

“I would,” Rick rubbed his suddenly-sweaty palms over his blue jean-covered legs, squeezing them, pushing down on his knees to stop the limbs from shaking. “But I… I’ve got a couple of fresh fish in the oven.” He looked down at his watch, maneuvering his wrist in search of enough light to check the time. “Should be about ready to come out any minute now.”

 

Negan stole a nervous glance over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one side to the other before crossing his legs at the ankles. “Well,” he offered, obviously trying to devise another plan in his head. “Why don’t you go and grab your fish out of the oven and bring it on over to my place. We’ll have us a goddamn fish and spaghetti banquet. What do ya say?” 

 

Rick could have given him a thousand and one excuses for why he couldn’t go, but he could clearly see he’d be fighting a losing battle. Negan didn’t look like the type of person who would easily take no for an answer anyway. Besides, he would be lying if he said his persistence wasn’t at least a little bit cute. “Okay,” Rick answered, a shy skittish grin, that he hoped Negan couldn't see, plastered on his face. “Give me fifteen minutes?”

 

“Take your time, gorgeous. I’ll keep the spaghetti hot.”

 

He said it again.

 

As soon as he heard the sound of Negan’s door banging shut behind him, Rick made a less than dignified attempt at getting out of his chair, tripping over one of the protruding rockers before running inside, making a mad dash for the kitchen.

 

After taking the fish out of the oven, he ran up to the loft and opened his closet, pulling out the new, peacock blue button up he had bought to wear to a concert before his accident, and a clean pair of black jeans. Comfortable, casual, but still proper enough for a dinner date. No, he scolded himself. Who said anything about this being a date? Grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and socks out of the top drawer, he laid everything out neatly on his bed and walked into the bathroom, turning on the hot water to the shower. 

 

It’s just dinner, he reminded himself again, quickly rinsing the thick layer of suds off of his body. It’s definitely not a date. He hopped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, staring at himself in the mirror. I only met the man this morning, he thought, licking his thumb and smoothing down an unruly eyebrow before reaching for his hairbrush, hoping to unknot his finicky brown curls. He probably only invited me over just to be neighborly. 

 

Forcing his asinine thoughts elsewhere, he jumped into his clothes and threw on a quick splash of cologne before hurrying back downstairs. He ran into the kitchen to plate up his—now that he had gotten a better look at it—way too ordinary and bland looking fish fillets. He couldn’t serve this to him, it looked like a cat’s breakfast. He snapped his fingers. Negan likes lemons, he remembered, reaching for a couple out of the bowl on his counter. He grabbed a stick of butter out of the fridge and the dried parsley from the cabinet. 

 

With no time and even less patience, he threw half the butter into a warm pan, adding the juice of a lemon and a few shakes of parsley after it had melted. He’s going to know this isn’t fresh, he worried, staring down at the pathetic green flakes floating on top of the yellow liquid in the pan. Looking at the clock, he knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He plated his fish, poured the sauce over it, even going so far as to garnish it with a few slices of fresh lemon, before covering it with foil. 

 

Rick stood at his front door ready to go with the fish in his hand, but couldn’t make himself open it. His stomach was nervous. He couldn’t get the sensation of the ten-thousand fluttering wings batting against his stomach to settle. God, he hadn’t felt like this since… since he met Spencer. 

 

Spencer. Just like that, the heartache was back. The grief and the loneliness. It had all resurfaced. He could feel the bitter tears beginning to sting as they welled up, flooding eyes that were, just seconds ago, excited about the idea of something, someone new. He turned his head, studying the pictures of he and Spencer together on the shelf. When everything was perfect. When his life wasn’t cursed by these goddamned hideous scars. When he knew tomorrow would be better than today because he would be there. He would always be there.

 

But he isn’t there. He wasn’t there today and… well he damn sure wouldn’t be there tomorrow either. 

 

He picked up one of the framed pictures. The one with the sun in his eyes and... Spencer had that goofy grin on his face. The small laugh he managed was tinged with sadness. We almost had it all, he thought, looking down at the image. Our lives, our love for each other. God, it was something else, wasn’t it? I was so happy with you. You made life worth living. You knew how to make every day special. He blinked back his tears, not allowing them to fall, not this time. I’m not supposed to love you anymore. I’m not supposed to care. You decided that. You made that rule. Not me. You’ve probably moved on with your life by now. It’s time for me to do the same. I’m letting you go the same way you did me. He gathered all of the framed photos in his free hand and dropped them into the trash can in his kitchen, listening to the glass shatter into splinters as they reached the bottom. 

 

***

 

Negan opened his front door, letting out a wolf whistle loud enough to cast an echo through the valley. “Goddamn,” he breathed, looking Rick up and down. “Did you get all dolled up just for me?”

 

Color flooded Rick’s cheeks as he looked away, trying to stop the smile threatening his lips. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” He followed Negan through the cabin and into the kitchen, clearing his throat several times, a nervous habit he thought he had gotten over years ago. “Fish needed a little more time than I thought.” 

 

“No worries, gorgeous.” Negan tipped a pitcher, pouring some freshly made lemonade into a couple of ice-filled glasses on the island bar set for two. “Something tells me you’re worth waiting for.” Negan glanced down at his rumpled t-shirt, his bare feet resting flat against the rustic flooring. “I really do wish I had known you were gonna get all gussied up. I would’ve changed, too. Been working up a sweat all damn day trying to unpack and get shit where it needs to be. How long you been living up here?”

 

“Well,” Rick said, putting his fish down in between the steaming bowl of spaghetti and a basket of bread. “I’ve been back and forth for several years during summer and winter vacations, but I moved in permanently about six months ago.”

 

“You come here for your vacations alone, too? Or did that guy in the pictures on your shelf come with you?”

 

Rick felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach, his brow breaking out in a cold sweat. “He… he came with me.” 

 

“Where is he now?”

 

He had already gathered, from their first encounter, that Negan was a shoot-from-the-hip, straight-talker, but his forwardness still managed to knock Rick on his ass just a little. Who knows? Maybe that was exactly what he needed, since, left to his own devices, he would never volunteer information about Spencer. He made the first move in letting him go for good tonight, but it still didn’t make it any easier to discuss. 

 

“I’m sorry if I’m being a nosy son of a bitch,” Negan added, pulling out a chair for Rick to sit down. “But I noticed your pictures together and… well I wasn’t sure if you were spoken for.”

 

“I used to be,” Rick answered softly. “But he’s still down in our hometown of Atlanta.” He picked up the dinner spoon in front of him, anything to busy his hands for a minute or two. “We met here, actually, over at my cabin. Four years ago, I spent the summer here with a group of people. He was one of them. He admitted to me, long after we had gotten engaged, that he fell in love with me the second he laid eyes on me.” Rick laughed, lifting his eyes to Negan. “Isn’t that the craziest thing you ever heard?”

 

“Love at first sight?” Negan smiled at him. “Nah. Doesn’t sound crazy to me at all.”

 

“Anyway,” Rick continued, clearing his throat again. “Come to find out, we were both from Atlanta. We dated steadily for a few years before we got engaged, but we already knew we’d be together forever. Then one day I… I was working and... I made a mistake. A stupid mistake that ended up costing me everything.” He looked at his reflection in the back of his spoon, his face grossly distorted by the belly of the utensil. “Imagine a love so strong, so raw, so pure… and then all of a sudden, it’s gone. It just gets taken away from you. It’s a lot like mourning the death of someone. Only they’re still alive and can’t stand the sight of you anymore.” Forcing a smile that glittered his watery eyes, Rick lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I guess he decided he didn’t love me just as fast as he decided he did.” 

 

Negan rubbed uncomfortably at the nape of his neck before dropping his hands into his lap with a heavy sigh. “I know all about that kind of love, Rick. And un-fucking-fortunately, I know all about that kind of pain, too.” After a moment, he reached for his glass of lemonade on the table. “And whatever this asshole’s name is down in Georgia, well he’s a goddamn fool to ever let someone like you get away from him.”

 

***

 

After helping him with the dishes, Rick walked into Negan’s living room, inching his way to the front door, looking forward to nothing but unbuckling the tightening belt currently wrapped around the glutted curve of his spaghetti and fish-stuffed stomach. “Thank you for dinner, it was really good. I ate too much,” he laughed, patting his belly. “But it was good.”

 

“You’re leaving already?” Negan stood in front of the couch. In one hand, his fingers were hooked around the handles of two mismatched coffee mugs, the other was clasped around the neck of a big bottle of Italian Sweet Crème coffee creamer, a pleading look on his suddenly, lamblike face. “It’s still early. I was hoping you could hang out with me a little while longer.”

 

Rick knew that look. This was Negan’s first night in the cabin. His first night on the mountain. He probably wasn’t counting on the night’s being this dark, this lonely. Probably wasn’t counting on the wild animals sounding so restless either. He watched Negan’s uneasy eyes fall on the closed door over his shoulder, as the haunting sound of an old owl’s sonorous hoot gave the night an even more eerie feel.

 

He was scared. 

 

“I guess I can stay a little while. If you're sure I'm not imposing.” Rick accepted the coffee and lifted the steaming mug to his nose, inhaling the rich, robust aroma as he sat down. He poured a lavish amount of the sweetened creamer into the mug, watching it swirl and spiral around in the hot liquid, a gradually slowing kaleidoscope of white and black. “I don't want to keep you awake.”

 

Negan’s anxious eyes were still locked on the door as he sat down next to Rick.

 

“You okay?” Rick asked, loudly slurping a sample of the nearly white coffee from his mug, raising a pleased eyebrow at the perfect balance of sweet and bitter. 

 

“Is it always this noisy at night?” 

 

Rick listened, smiling as the remaining members of the pack finally answered the howls of the lost coyote, sounding more like a choir of sopranos warming up their vocal chords before a concert. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Unless a good soaking rain settles in for the night, that’s what it sounds like.”

 

“What the fuck is that?” The dark hair on Negan’s arms were standing on end. “Is it wolves?”

 

“No,” Rick chuckled, leaning back against the oxblood leather sofa, taking some of the pressure off of his stuffed gut. “Those are coyotes. They’re not gonna hurt you. They’re just, trying to find each other.”

 

“What kind of animals live up here?” Negan finally relaxed enough to enjoy a few sips of coffee. “Like, go down the goddamn checklist and tell me what I’m dealing with here.”

 

“Let’s see. Besides birds and fish, there’s uh, white-tailed deer, groundhogs,” Rick looked up at the ceiling, bending his fingers down as he listed them from memory. “Chipmunks, squirrels, skunks, raccoons… ”

 

“Ha ha,” Negan said dryly. “No, Snow White. To hell with that list. I’m talking about the mean motherfuckers with teeth and claws. Any of those up here?”

 

“Well, that depends on what you mean by teeth and claws. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of black bears and... coyotes,” he pointed toward the door with his thumb as the yaps and howls continued outside. “They’re actually more afraid of you than you are of them. But there aren’t any wolves, grizzlies or mountain lions around here, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

 

Clearly relieved, Negan flashed him a smug who’s-worried-I’m-not-worried look that left Rick positively itching to tease him a little. “Well I assume you heard about all of the chupacabra sightings before you moved here, right?”  

 

Big golden eyes bearing flecks of green stared back at him, blinking, not believing. “Chupacabras?” Negan laughed, his tone mocking the word. “You had me in your corner when you were talking about those fucking wolf wannabes out there… but now you’re just lying. There’s no such thing as a chupacabra. That’s just made up folklore shit meant to scare featherheads and mean ass little kids.”

 

“I wish. Been a couple people—since I’ve been here anyway—gone missing. Just down the mountainside there.” Rick bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile as he watched the concerned, nervous expression grow on Negan’s face. “Witnesses all reported seeing the same type of thing at the scene. A wild dog-like creature with leathery gray skin instead of fur. Long fangs and claws, all stained with blood from draining its last victim.” He looked over his shoulder to the door, holding his arm, rubbing it up and down as the persistent howls sounded steadily. “They say that the chupacabra can imitate the sounds of animals, too. Make people and other animals believe it’s just a coyote or something. Sometimes, even the other coyotes on the mountain will believe it’s one of their pack members and answer back. That’s how it finds them. I didn’t want to say anything, but that could be one of them right now, just inside those trees out there.”

 

Negan’s breathing was getting heavier and heavier with every passing second, his pulse beat rapidly, visibly in the hollow of his throat.

 

“I was told, and I swear it’s true, that if you look toward the woods at night, you can see their eyes glowing, watching, waiting for their next unsuspecting meal to come walking by. I’ve seen it myself. Their eyes glow orange, just like live coals in the dark.” He faked a nervous chuckle. “I slept with a gun in my hand for the first few weeks after I saw one.” 

 

“Come on,” Negan laughed stubbornly, refusing to take the bait. “What kind of gullible asshat do you take me for, Rick? I’m a little too smart for that kind of shit.”

 

“Go look,” Rick insisted, gesturing to one of the large windows in the living room. “Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me. Prove me wrong.”

 

“Okay,” Negan put his mug down on the coffee table and dawdled his way toward the windows. “I’ll fucking do just that, mountain man.” He looked out into the night, eyes squinted, searching, sifting through the darkness for any hint of light.”

 

While Negan was distracted, completely absorbed in proving him wrong, Rick snuck up behind him, tiptoeing carefully so that the wooden floor panels didn’t groan under his weight. When he was close enough, he reached out and grabbed him by his broad shoulders, letting out the biggest, booming growl his lungs and vocal chords could muster, the sound of it ricocheting off of the window panes, ringing through his own ears.

 

Big bad leather-wearing, Hellcat-driving Negan jumped out of his skin, releasing a strangled cry so shameful, it left Rick doubled over, his unrestrained laughter filling the air, curling around the rafters of the vaulted ceiling as the resonance travelled through the entire cabin. It had been so long since he had a reason to laugh like this. A reason to smile. He’d been so lonely, he sometimes wondered if he’d ever have the chance again.

 

Clutching his stomach, he stomped the floor with his foot until the laughter reduced itself to a few dramatic coughs and hiccups before finally giving way to a long humored sigh. “I wish you could have seen your face,” he pointed, wanting to laugh again but his stomach muscles ached too much. “Chupacabras aren’t real,” he teased, imitating Negan’s gravelly voice. “I’ve never seen anyone jump so—” Before Rick could finish, Negan was chasing him around the living room. 

 

“Come here, you little shit!” Negan laughed, stumbling over and spilling a box of DVDs and Blu-ray movies he hadn’t unpacked yet. 

 

The raucous laughter of both men filled the room, mingling and mixing together as they ran in circles around the living room, drowning out the sounds outside altogether. Exhausted from being chased with such a full stomach, Rick turned around and put his hands up. “Okay,” he said, backing up to sit on the arm of the couch, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “I surrender.”

 

Negan, his face unreadable, began a slow saunter toward him, closing the gap until there was barely a breath of space left between them. 

 

With a bashful smile, Rick dropped his head, suddenly concerned with a small hangnail on his left thumb. 

 

“Has anyone ever told you…” Negan lifted Rick’s chin and leaned closer, his voice low, husky and serious, his lips inching dangerously close to his. “... that you have the most incredible laugh? The most beautiful smile?” 

 

Tucking a stray curl behind his ear, Rick looked up at him tentatively. “I haven’t really used either in a long time before tonight.”

 

“Well that is a goddamn shame.” Negan gazed down at him with a half smile. “What if I made you a promise? A promise to make you smile, make you laugh like that every day? Would you give me that chance?”

 

Rick thought about all the endless days and sleepless nights he’d spent alone in his cabin. Day after day of utter loneliness. Without seeing another face. Without hearing another’s voice. He wanted someone in his life again. To have the life back that had slipped through his fingers so easily before. He wanted to be that happy again. He needed it. He longed to feel the weight of a man on top of him. To make love to him. Treasure him. To drive him insane with passion and desire. But what would happen then? What would happen when Negan saw the monster under his clothes. Would he be disgusted like Spencer? Would he turn him away? He didn’t know if he could live through that again. 

 

Closing his eyes against the flow of tears, Rick took a deep, shuddering breath. “People don’t always keep their promises. Sometimes they forget. Sometimes they change their mind.”

 

“I know that better than anybody, Rick.” Negan took his hands in his and dropped his head. “Believe me, I fucking do. And the last thing I wanna do is hurt you. I know what it feels like to lose Heaven to Hell. I’ve been searching for something good in my life for the last two years. And I finally found it, Rick. I found it standing out in my driveway. I found it standing in your kitchen. Give me a chance.”

 

Looking up, meeting Negan’s gaze, Rick saw something so familiar in his eyes. He saw himself. He saw hurt and loss. Disappointment. But that wasn’t it. No, there was something else there. Something he had felt earlier after Negan invited him over for dinner. It was a flicker of hope. 

 

Reaching up, Negan brushed his fingers over the marred and disfigured skin on Rick’s face, leaving behind a trail of the softest caresses. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. 

 

Rick could feel himself leaning into it. Wanting it. No one, other than his doctors and nurses, has ever touched him there. No one had ever wanted to.

 

He rested his forehead against Negan’s, wrapping his arms around his waist. In one second, Negan was looking down at him, in the next, his lips were on his. No. They weren’t on his—they were a part of his—kissing him like no one had ever kissed him before. 

 

As Rick felt his insides melt into nothing, he could feel something else. He could feel himself smiling again. Again... and again... and again.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The temperature had dropped at least ten or fifteen degrees. The cold mountain air whistled down from the valley, carrying with it the masculine scent of the fir trees, and the pungent, cidery smell of overripe apples rotting on the ground. But Rick was unfazed by it’s chilly bite as he made the slow walk back to his place, the smile Negan brought out of him still present on his face, deepening, growing wider as he reached his steps.

 

Before going inside, he stopped on his porch and looked over toward the other cabin, his eyes following as the lights went out one by one in the ground floor windows. Looking up, he waited until the loft lit up with a soft amber glow, not taking his eyes off of Negan’s silhouette as he undressed behind the sheer veil of the window shade. As he watched the room go dark, he touched his still-tingling lips, the memory of his unexpected kiss still lingering there.

 

Feeling better than he had in a long time, Rick went inside, making the trip up to his own loft. Any other night, just thinking about climbing those stairs, looking at that rustic, red cedar log bed built for two, lying in it all alone, it only exhumed imageries that left him tossing and turning until morning, his mind riddled with the memories of a happier time he knew he would never get back. 

 

But not tonight. No, tonight as he slid between the sheets and settled under the weight of his warm quilt, he found himself comforted with the pleasant memories of the evening he had spent with Negan. His sparkling eyes and that big, infectious laugh of his. The warmth of his smile and their endless conversation. The tenderness in his kiss and the inexplicable feeling of truth behind his words. 

 

After a big yawn and a long, slow exhale, he smiled to himself, taking those thoughts with him as he curled up on his side, tucking his nose under the edge of the quilt for warmth, having no trouble drifting off into a deep, restful sleep.

 

_ He soon found himself in the woods, ankle-deep in a colorful carpet of fallen leaves, walking hand in hand with the new next door neighbor. There was a light wind blowing, just enough to make the stars above them flicker and blink against the pitch black sky, and just enough to put a lazy sway in the trees surrounding them. They stopped under a tall sugar maple, a golden shower of leaves raining all around them as they looked deep into each other's eyes, a comfortable silence falling between them.  _

 

_ Negan reached for him, pulling him closer as the curve of his knuckles grazed his cheek, brushing his skin with a whisper-soft stroke before leaning down to kiss him. His lips were warm, his tongue rich with the taste of coffee and passion. Rick leaned against him, losing himself in his touch as two strong arms wrapped around him, supporting him as they lowered his body to the soft woodland floor.  _

 

_ “Make love to me,” he breathed, his lips smoldering, burning from the heat of their kiss, his heart pounding so hard, he swore he could hear it knocking against his ribs with every beat.  _

 

Rick hadn’t been asleep long when he opened his eyes to the darkness, hearing what he thought was the sound of his heart beating. He sat up in bed, throwing himself forward, planting his knees into the mattress as he turned his ear to listen. There it was again, louder this time. As he sat there, dwelling in between the worlds of sleep and awake, he slowly came to the realization that the knocking he heard in his dream... was in fact reality. Someone was at his door. 

 

With his eyes barely open, he tumbled out of bed and stumbled toward the lamp. Using his memory and the occasional strip of light that flashed between his heavy eyelids, he felt his way down the stairs, the knocking growing louder and more impatient as he went. “Okay, okay! I’m coming!” 

 

Squinting against the brightness of the porch light, he fought a smile as he peeped around the edge of the door. It was Negan, his hair a bushy mess, the rest of him a ball of frazzled nerves. He was dressed in a pair of ugly, faded Christmas pajamas, the bottoms, covered in a repeating pattern of pine trees and reindeer, measured at least two inches too short, floating well above his ankles, the elastic damn near shot in both of his socks. He had a thick blanket draped cape-like over his shoulders, and an orange toothbrush in his hand, its worn out bristles frayed and bent.

 

“Jesus,” he laughed, his breath clouding in the cool night air as he threw a cautious look over his shoulder, the sound of a tree branch creaking in the wind sending him a step closer in Rick’s direction. “It’s like trying to wake the fucking dead over here. You gonna let me in?”

 

Rick opened the door a little more and moved to the side, letting him pass. “What are you doing here?” he asked, mid yawn, staring into the beady eyes of the peeling red-nosed deer on Negan’s pajama top as he scratched his head and shut the door. “Thought you said you were going to bed.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He sat down on the couch, rubbing one foot with the other, attempting to warm both of them with the friction. “I was just wondering…” He looked down at the toothbrush between his fingers, inspecting it closely, turning it over in his hands as if he’d never seen one before. “It’s my first night here,” he offered, sighing defeatedly as he looked up to Rick, his hazel eyes saying the rest of what his mouth and pride couldn’t.

 

***

 

“What’re you doin’?” Rick grumbled groggily from underneath his quilt, being woken up again giving him a dull headache, a distant throb behind his eyes that roared to life when he lifted his head to look over his shoulder. “I said you could sleep on the couch.”

 

“It’s cold down there,” Negan whined in a hushed tone, crawling in next to him without an invitation, his breath shaking with a chill as he pulled the covers up over him. “Lonely, too. Go back to sleep. You won’t even know I’m here.”

 

Too tired to argue, too exhausted to fight off the sleep that was already coming back to claim him, Rick dropped his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. They opened again a few minutes later as he felt the quilt and sheet being lifted from his shoulder, the bed dipping as Negan scooted in closer. When the movement stopped, Rick could feel the heat of his body against him through their pajamas, the warmth of his breath blowing down on his neck. 

 

As his eyes fell shut again, the weight of a long arm dropped over his waist, fingers skimming over his rib cage, his stomach, tracing every dip, every ridge and scar that lay hidden beneath the soft, pewter blue cotton of his thermal underwear. “I love this spot,” Negan whispered, pressing his lips against the rough skin on Rick’s neck. “This one right here,” he clarified, kissing him in the dip just under his ear. “It’s perfect.” He kissed him again before tugging on his shirt. “Kiss me goodnight?”

 

Rick buried his face with a tired groan. “One kiss?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Then you’ll let me go to sleep?  _ You’ll  _ go to sleep?”

 

“One kiss,” he promised, propping himself up on his elbow as he bounced on the mattress, wired out of his mind from the three cups of caffeine and sugar-laden coffee he had drank after dinner.

 

As Rick rolled over to face him, a strip of moonlight shining through the window lit up his face and dark hair with its silvery shine, the leafless limbs of a tree shadowing some of his features as it rocked in the wind.

 

“Goddamn,” Negan breathed, cupping the back of Rick’s head, cradling his decent back down to the pillow. “That dumbass in Georgia,” he let go of a soft chuckle as he ran the pad of his thumb over the seam of his lips, watching the way they trembled under the slightest touch. “He didn’t know what a good thing he had, did he?” He shook his head in disbelief, returning Rick’s sheepish smile with one of his own. “Damn lucky thing for me.” 

 

One goodnight kiss turned into two, two turned into four. By the time they reached six,  there wasn’t any reason either of them could think of to stop.

 

***

 

The first rays of the gentle morning sun shone through the trees, trickling in through the eastside windows, spilling long beams over the wide planks of the floor, creeping across the foot of the bed and Rick’s closed eyes. Slowly drifting toward consciousness, he became aware of Negan’s presence and the way he laid behind him—his body curled around the curve of his back in a protective shell, a long leg draped over his, and an arm around his waist, fingers intertwined with his under the covers. His scent was rich, his breathing deep, warming the back of his neck with every exhale.

 

A soft, contented sigh whispered from Rick’s lips. He couldn’t remember a night where he’d slept so soundly, or a morning he’d woken up so comfortable. He had forgotten what this felt like, having been so long since he shared the warmth and solace of togetherness. Damn, he’d missed it. 

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

 

Rick opened his eyes and rolled over toward the raspy voice. He found himself staring right into Negan’s gaze, the colors of the quilt deepening the brown and green tones in his eyes, a sexy, sleepy look clinging heavily to his face. “Morning,” he mumbled, smiling as a whiskery kiss touched his forehead.

 

“You know,” Negan said softly, brushing Rick’s sleep-fallen curls back out of his face as he studied his eyes. “I once spent a week in an overwater bungalow smack dab in the middle of the Maldives—bluest fucking water I’ve ever seen in my life—but I never woke up to an ocean view like this one.”

 

Rick stared back at him for a few seconds before covering his mouth with his hand. When the tight-lipped smile behind his palm turned into a tooth-bearing grin, he knew he was in trouble. The laughter erupted from his belly with a wheezing, undignified crow-like sound.

 

“What is it?” Negan asked, his cheeks taking on a rosy glow, a confused expression painting his face. “What’s so goddamn funny?”

 

When the cackling finally devolved into a string of snorts and hiccups, he took a second to catch his breath, using the corner of the sheet to wipe his eyes. “You don’t have to keep sweet talking me like that,” Rick insisted with a lingering smile, his fingers tugging at the salt and pepper beard on Negan’s chin. “I like you already.”

 

“Oh really?” Negan’s gravelly whisper warmed Rick’s face, its deep vibrations sending shivers of awareness down his spine, reaching places in him he forgot existed. “You  _ like me,  _ huh? How about instead of telling me... you come over here and show me.”

 

A nervous smile reached Rick’s eyes. “I should probably go and—” Before he could finish the suggestion of brushing his teeth first, Negan was pulling him closer, cradling him in arms, stealing his breath, swallowing his words with a hungry, chest-to-chest, body against body kiss. 

 

“Fuck.” Negan kissed him again, harder, deeper, his tongue a stroke of fire, his lips capturing his in hot, passionate stamps of possession. “I can’t get you out of my mind, Rick.” His hands were everywhere, tangling in his messy curls, gliding down his back, molding around the curves of his ass, squeezing and kneading, caressing him, numbing Rick’s mind of everything but him. 

 

Rick rolled over on his back, clinging to the strong muscles of Negan’s shoulders, taking him with him. The extent of his arousal was obvious as his weight settled on top of him. The blue in his eyes darkened into two September stones, his pulse firing like a machine gun as Negan’s mouth moved down to nip at the tender flesh of his neck, his tongue trailing over every bite, sending rush after whitehot rush through his body. 

 

“I want to taste every inch of your skin,” Negan whispered against his neck, planting a wet kiss against the shell of his ear.

 

The words didn’t register with Rick, not at first, not until he felt the warmth of his hand on his chest, the cool air of the room blowing over his naked abdomen as Negan's fingers skated dangerously close to the damaged skin there. “Stop,” he hissed, grabbing his wrist with one hand, pulling his shirt down with the other. After pushing Negan off of him, he sat up, swinging his legs around to the edge of the bed, his stiffened cock a hard outline in the leg of his thin pajama bottoms. “Maybe you should go.”

 

“Yeah,” Negan whispered, sitting up behind him, lowering his mouth to the thermal-covered curve of his spine. “Or... I could stay.”

 

Rick shuddered, pulling himself away from his touch.

 

“I’m sorry. Goddammit, I guess I got a little carried away.”

 

“ _ We _ ... got carried away,” Rick corrected, dropping his head with a sigh. Reaching behind him, he put his hand on top of Negan’s. “It wasn’t you,” he promised him, stroking the bony ridge of his knuckles with his thumb. “I  _ wanted  _ to. I still do. It’s just that…” He choked up, hot tears burning the back of his throat as the months and months of bottled-up emotions threatened to surface and spill out right in front of him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Rick.” Negan moved in closer behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist whether he liked it or not, holding him tight as he rested his chin on the rounded top of his shoulder. “You know you don’t have to hide anything from me,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath, the slight touch of his lips against his ear sending him a much-needed dose of reassurance. “Not a goddamn thing, okay? Not from me. And just so you know… I’m a little more understanding than you might think.”

 

Rick turned around to face him, the line between his eyebrows digging in a little bit further. “What do you mean?” 

 

“When you’re ready to talk,” he answered, lying back down in the bed with a long, drawn out groan, tucking his hands behind his head on the pillow. “You let me know.” Negan tossed him a quick wink and closed his eyes, his chest already rising and falling in quiet, steady movements.

 

Rick sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, looking outside the window, watching as a noisy, downy woodpecker, with his handsome black and white suit and bright red cap, drummed away at the side of a tree in search of his breakfast. As the bird flew off out of sight, he looked back to the bed, to the man stretched out peacefully on his back, studying his features. God, he wanted to trust him. Wanted it more than anything in the world. 

 

_ Maybe _ , he thought, maybe deep down inside, in the most honest part of his heart, he felt like he already did. He’d shown him nothing but kindness, acceptance. He’d gone out of his way to convince him that the visible scars on his face and neck didn’t matter. In fact, the way he looked at him made him feel as if he were the most beautiful person on the planet.

 

But he couldn’t allow himself to believe that, he just couldn’t. Not when he knew the truth. The ugly truth of what he’d kept hidden under his clothes for the last six months. His psychological scars were just as ugly, if not more so, as the daily reminder of his physical ones. The scars on his soul were a lot more painful than the ones on his body, and they would take a lot longer to heal. 

 

Just the  _ thought  _ of bearing himself to someone else, even after all this time, it scared the hell out of him. It would destroy him to see Negan’s expression change from one of appreciation, to one filled with pity or disgust. He didn’t want that. He knew all too well how bad that hurt. He couldn’t go through it again. 

 

Crawling back toward his pillow, he laid back down next to Negan, pressing himself against his side. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking up at him with his cheek against his chest, his fingers running in and out of his beard, loving the feel of the soft texture and the angled contours of his jaw underneath.

 

Negan let out a long breath, bringing one of his arms down, tucking it around Rick’s shoulders. “For what?” he asked, never even opening his eyes.

 

He thought long and hard about his answer before giving one.  _ For finding me attractive. For wanting me and wanting to be with me. For seeing past something I haven’t been able to. For understanding. For everything.  _ The words were right there, sitting right on the tip of his tongue, but Rick couldn’t force himself to actually voice them. Something was holding him back, making tears well up and sting the corners of his eyes. Faking a yawn, he rolled away from him and pulled the quilt back up over them. “For the spaghetti last night.”

 

Negan laughed quietly and turned on his side, curling against him, fitting himself against his back with both arms around him. “Hell Rick, I should be the one thanking  _ you _ . I’ve been by myself so long, I’ve forgotten how good this feels. Just having a warm body next to me,” he sighed. “It feels like home.”

 

A flurry of wind swept through the trees outside, rattling their crowns, scraping and scratching their spindly branches against the windows as Rick rested contentedly, willingly under the lenient confinement of his arms. “We can stay here all day if you want,” Negan whispered against the softness of his hair, their legs dovetailed together as they breathed in unison. “We got nothing to do, nowhere to be but here.”

 

As his thoughts became jumbled, Rick’s lips curved in a secret smile while the rest of him drifted away, spiraling back toward the sandman’s— 

 

“Shit!” Negan bolted upright in the bed, his pulse throbbing violently in the hollow of his throat. “The moving truck. I forgot about the goddamn moving truck.” He was already out of the bed and down the first three stairs when he stopped and looked back. “If I don’t get it down to the drop off location by nine, they’ll charge me another three-hundred and twenty-nine bucks. Let’s go!” he motioned toward the first level of the cabin. “Time is fucking money, Rick.”

 

Rick was still sitting in the middle of the bed in shock, staring at him stupidly, blinking, shaking his head. “What do you need me for?”

 

“Well how else am I gonna get home? I gotta drive the truck there and leave it.”

  
  
“Can’t you just—can’t you tow your car behind you and drive yourself back? I don’t usually go off the mountain during the day.” 

 

“No. By the time I get the car back on the—”  He walked back up the stairs and pulled Rick out of the bed by his sock-clad feet. “Come on,” he urged. “Get dressed. I’ll wait for you outside.”

 

***

 

With his longcoat zipped and the hood pulled up over his head, Rick picked up his wallet and shut the door behind him. The moving truck and Negan’s car were both running in his driveway, white clouds of exhaust billowing behind the tailpipes in the cool morning air as the engines warmed up.  _ Just there and back, _ he thought to himself, walking down his porch steps. Negan’s windows were tinted. No one would see him.

 

As his feet met the ground, his shoes crunching in the newly fallen leaves, Rick dropped to his knees, clutching his hands over his face as he groaned in pain, a thrown rock catching him in the corner of his right eye.

 

“Fuck you, Freddy Krueger!”

 

“Eat shit and die, freak!”

 

“Your face is so fucked up, it looks like somebody put a coat on a glob of raw hamburger meat!”

 

He looked up to see the same handful of boys he’d grown accustomed to, laughing at him, taunting him from the edge of the woods, and a fresh coat of blood staining the tips of his fingers. 

 

“Rick!” Negan’s screen door banged in its frame as he ran from his cabin to check on him, his feet sliding sideways in the leaves as he rushed to his side. “What the hell happened to—” He noticed the small cut and the bright red tear of blood running down the side of his face, his eye already beginning to swell and bruise. “Je-hee-sus. Did you fall?” he asked, turning his head to get a better look at the damage.

 

“Not exactly,” Rick answered, looking toward the boys just as one of them dropped their pants to moon them. “They threw a rock at me and—Negan, stop!” Rick scrambled to his feet, grabbing him by the sleeve of his leather jacket, trying to stop him from going after the boys. It was useless.

 

“You like throwing shit?” Negan scooped up a handful of rocks, leaves and dirt, hurling everything at them at once before reaching down and grabbing another handful on the run. He caught one of them by the back of their shirt, holding him by the shoulders, shaking him as he yelled in his face. “You like throwing rocks at people?”

 

“Let go of me!” The boy started crying as his friends abandoned him, both of them hauling ass back down the mountainside before Negan got his hands on them, too.

 

“Answer my question, asshole!” He got a grip on the kid’s collar, the threads popping as he lifted him off of the ground. “If I catch your ass up here again, if I so much as catch a whiff of your scent near one of these cabins—” He let him go, his narrowed eyes sending out a clear warning.

 

“I’m telling my dad!” the kid promised as he hurried down the same trail his friends took, pulling his pants up as he ran.

 

***

 

Rick moved over to the passenger seat of the car in the Penske moving truck parking lot, the engine still running as Negan climbed in beside him and buckled his seatbelt. “I don’t know about you,” he said, putting the Challenger in drive, looking over his shoulder before pulling back onto the road. “But I could go for some breakfast. Been dying to go to Flapjack’s Pancake Cabin ever since I saw their billboard on Interstate 81. Those goddamn sticky bun pancakes are calling my name.”

 

Using his index finger, Rick traced a heart inside the foggy window, writing something inside it before wiping it away with the sleeve of his coat. “Whatever you said to that boy this morning, the way you handled things, you can’t do that, Negan. It doesn’t matter what they did, there are limits on how you can deal with kids.”

 

“They’re assholes, Rick.”

 

“They’re  _ kids _ .”

 

“They’re  _ little assholes _ ,” Negan stressed, letting his voice linger, bearing hard on the last two words. “If you don’t show them the way, little assholes grow up to be great big ones.” They were quiet for a few minutes as he turned, pulling the car into the busy parking lot. “Here we go.” He parked and shut the engine off, reaching over to give Rick’s knee a little squeeze. “Let’s go fill out bellies with carbs, fat and love.”

 

Rick looked up and saw where they were, people going in as fast as they were coming out. He turned to Negan, staring at him as if he were crazy. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry. I’ll just wait here in the car.”

 

Negan took the keys out of the ignition and opened his door, whistling as he walked around to the other side, opening Rick’s door with a smile. “Come on.”

 

“I  _ can’t  _ go in there.”

 

“Yes you can,” Negan pressed, leaning down, taking him by the hand. “You can do this.”

 

Rick fought to stay in the seat, the hollowness in his stomach quickly filling with dread. “I’m telling you,” he said, Negan winning the tug of war, pulling him to his feet as he struggled to get his hood up over his head. “I can’t do it.”

 

“ _ Stop _ .” Negan pushed the black hood back off of his head, unzipping his coat and shrugging it off of his shoulders, tossing it into the backseat of his car. “How many times have you gone out during the day since you’ve been up here?”

 

“I haven’t.”

 

“Why?”

 

Rick pulled his lips together, tightening them, sinking his teeth into the bottom one as he tried to hide the emotion threatening to pour out of him. “I know what I look like, Negan. I don’t need  _ people  _ to remind me of it.” He smudged his tears away with annoyance, dropping his head as an older couple walked by. “I’m better off up on that mountain.”

 

Growing frustrated, Negan ground his heels against the pavement. “Shit. I wish you could see what I see. You’re gorgeous, Rick, absolutely gorgeous.” He reached out, playing with one of his stray curls before tucking it back behind his ear, tracing his sharp, stubbly jawline with his finger. “Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not saying you’re a perfect human being, because you abso-fucking-lutely are not. You snore like a goddamn dinosaur. And your  _ morning breath _ ? Well… let’s just say it could peel the paint off a fucking barn.”

 

Rick covered his face, shaking his head as he felt the heat on his hands, stifling his embarrassed laughter behind them.

 

He smiled at him, chuckling with him as he lifted his face, wiping his cheeks and runny nose with his thumbs. “Being perfect is boring, Rick. You can’t spend all your time worrying about what other people think of you. And you can’t spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself, either. It’s normal to feel sad. It’s normal to get angry sometimes, too. But don’t waste the rest of your life focusing on all the shit you can’t control. Not everyone is gonna fucking like you in this world, honey. Not everyone is gonna look at you and like what they see. And that’s okay. It’s life. That’s how it is for every goddamn body. We get what we get… and we deal with it.” 

 

***

 

“You  _ have  _ to try these sticky bun pancakes,” Negan insisted, sweeping his tongue low, catching a drop of butter before it found its way into his beard. “Get your fucking fork in here and get some of this, Rick.”

 

“I’ve been here before,” he reminded him, offering him a slice of bacon before reaching his arm across the table, digging his fork into one of the cinnamon swirled hotcakes on Negan’s plate, running it through the chopped pecans and puddles of creamy icing before shoveling it into his mouth. 

 

The restaurant was packed, some having to wait in line as long as half an hour before they were seated. Each time Negan noticed Rick’s eyes wandering, scoping the place from wall to wall to see if anyone was pointing him out, he would get his attention on something else. He did his best to shake off the sense of uneasiness that trickled over him, pretending that it was just him and Negan, sharing a meal at his table, just as they had the night before.

 

“Have you tried the peanut butter cups ones? Oh my God.” 

 

Rick nodded as he cut into one of his gravy-smothered biscuits. “I’ve tried every pancake, waffle and french toast flavor in this place, Negan. Their crepes are good, too.” He wiped his mouth, chasing his food with a big swallow of hot coffee. “They’re stuffed with this cheesecake custard,” he motioned with his hands, illustrating how they were rolled. “And you can order them with strawberries, blueberries, mixed berries or—” Feeling someone’s eyes fixed on him, he stopped, glancing over to the table beside them. Two women, both looking to be in their late thirties to early forties, were clearly staring at him, neither of them bothering to hide the fact that their conversation was about him as well. He put his fork down, pushing the plates of food away from him. “I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he said, sliding down the length of the bench, dropping the paper napkin in his hand as he stood. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

 

Negan looked up from the pancake buffet in front of him, a smear of whipped cream caught in the corner of his mouth. “What? Where the hell are you going? We’ve barely made a dent in this fucking food.” Following Rick’s on and off again gaze, he figured out pretty quickly what the problem was. “Sit back down,” he ordered, pointing down at his two uneaten plates of food. “I’ll be right back.”

 

“No, Negan. Don’t make… a scene.” His last two words fell over an empty table as Negan was already crossing the floor, raising his voice at their meddling neighbors. He sat back down, leaning his elbows on the table, resting his forehead in his hands. After a while, he worked up enough courage to peep through his fingers. 

 

_ What the hell is he doing?  _ Negan had seated himself at their table, rubbing shoulders with one of the women as he joined in their conversation, throwing his head back in a loud, way too overly excited laugh.  _ Whose side are you on anyway? _

 

A rush of fear flooded his insides, as warm and fluid as the blood pounding through his veins as he and the two women got up from the table, all three making their way toward him. 

 

“Rick,” Negan touched his arm. “These beautiful young ladies have something they’d like to say to you.”

 

Swallowing a lump of anxiety the size of a golf ball, Rick managed to lift his head and look at the women. 

 

“We’re sorry for staring at you like that, sugar. It’s just that… we recognized you from back home.”

 

“Saw your picture on the news after you saved that little girl from that awful house fire.”

 

“You’re a hero, sweetie. We just wanted to thank you.”

 

“Wow. I—” Rick didn’t know what to say. His voice seemed to be stuck somewhere between his lungs and his heart. He shrugged miserably, wiping his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he finally managed, looking up at Negan with a smile growing on his face.

 

“To show our gratitude, we’d love to pay for your meal.”

 

“Oh you don’t have to—”

 

“Well damn,” Negan interrupted him, sliding back into the booth, nudging him with his boot. “That’s very kind of you, ladies. We accept. Thank you.”

 

“Thank you,” Rick repeated, sniffing, releasing a breath of warm air, the tension in his body finally dissolving into thin air. 

 

“Could we ask for one small favor before we go?”

 

“You name it,” Negan answered for him, winking at Rick over the top of his mug, taking a sip of his pumpkin spice coffee before it cooled off anymore.

 

“Could we get a quick picture with you?”

 

After Negan snapped the photo with the phone belonging to one of the women, he turned it around, his heart melting as he took in the sight of the bright smile lighting up Rick’s face as he received a kiss on both cheeks.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine, the high winds cutting through the pines still had a chilly bite to it. But the river, with its cool, jewel-blue water, sparkling and glittering like tinsel on the surface as it wound its way through the woods, was a pastoral scene of serenity and beauty. Apart from the sweet, unwavering tune of the songbirds, the only sounds surrounding them now were those of the gentle lappings of water as it navigated around a rock or the fallen trunk of a tree, and the distant horn of an old diesel train as it rolled toward its destination. 

 

Bagging himself another hefty bass, Rick baited his hook and recast his line back into the river. After grabbing a green apple out of a brown paper sack, he lazily stretched his long body back out on the grassy bank next to Negan. With one arm tucked behind his head for a pillow, he drew in a chestful of sweet mountain air, blowing it out slowly as he stared up at the endless blue of the unseasonably springlike sky. 

 

“That does it.” Negan jumped to his feet, his voice edged with irritation. “Now you’re just fucking showing off.” 

 

Rick looked up at him with a slow and easy grin, his big blue eyes reduced to two wrinkled slits as he squinted against the sunlight peeping around his hovering frame. “What are you going on about now?”

 

In the few weeks that they’d spent together, Rick had grown accustomed to Negan and his constant yet harmless strifes and complaints.  _ There are too many bugs and animals here. This goddamn weather is crazy. The people are crazier.  _

 

But at the same time, he’d grown accustomed to his company, too. Whenever he was around—which was more often than not since he was underfoot most every minute of every day, curled up like a cat behind him every night—he felt an indefinable sense of ease. 

 

Although the intimacy between them hadn't gone any further than their lips, the kisses they shared were long and passionate. And no matter how much either of them tried to deny it, those kisses—those long, wet, deep-throated kisses—they were growing in intensity. 

 

During those long, lonely months he’d spent alone on this mountain, he had forgotten how a kiss, a touch of someone’s hand, or even something as simple as a smile could make everything inside him melt. But Negan, well he just had a way of making him remember. And he wanted it.  _ God  _ how he wanted it. He wanted his mouth, his hands… he wanted him. But finding the strength, the courage to let him give it to him… that was another story.

 

“I’ve had my fucking line in the water right next to yours,” Negan whined, pointing toward the side-by-side fishing poles wedged inside an old hollow log near their feet. “We’ve got the same rod, the same fishing line, and the same damn type of hook… yet the only thing I’ve wrangled in was a handful of rock snot. But  _ you,  _ well some-fucking-how you’ve managed to hook at least a dozen—”

 

“Fifteen,” Rick corrected him, the grin on his face blossoming into a full-fledged satisfied smile.

 

_ “Fifteen,”  _ Negan mimicked him through clenched teeth, plopping his hands on his hips with a frustrated sigh. “Fifteen of those goddamn wiggly jigglies, all while laying here on your ass half asleep. What’s your fucking secret?”

 

“I told you,” Rick insisted, sinking his teeth noisily into the piece of fruit, his hand chasing after the dribble of apple juice that raced across his face. “There's no secret. You just have to be a little more—oh wait a second.” Holding up one finger, he paused long enough to swallow the mouthful of apple. “Did you kiss your bait?” he asked, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Did you kiss your bait for luck before dropping your line?”

 

“Kiss my—” Negan stopped and looked down at the small cup of earthworms nestled in the grass, his face turning sour. “Now you’re just making shit up.”

 

“No,” he stressed, raising his dark eyebrows high enough to pleat his forehead with wrinkles. “Every good fisherman knows you gotta kiss your bait before you sink it. Same goes for the first catch of the day. You kiss it. It’s a good luck thing. I thought you knew that.”

 

“You must think… ” Negan stopped and bent over double, his brassy laugh echoing through the valley as he pounded his thigh with his fist. “You must think I’m the most gullible motherfucker on earth.” His laughter trickled away, but the smile—and his dimples—stuck around as he continued to spurn Rick’s claim. “Kiss one of those dirty ass belly crawlers? Are you kidding me? I smell another one of your  _ Chupacabras _ ,” he wheezed again, his fingers curling in air quotes with the last word. “I was born at night, Rick, but it damn sure wasn’t last night.”

 

“Fine,” Rick huffed, laying back down, pillowing his head on his arm again as he examined his apple. Using his thumbnail, he scraped at a large bruise in the white pulp before tossing what was left into the woods for the deer. “Don’t blame me when you walk away empty handed.” 

 

Without warning, Negan’s rod bowed sharply into the river. “Shit!” Rick jumped up and grabbed the poles before both of them were pulled into the water. “Don’t just stand there! Reel him in!”

 

_ Him? _

 

Negan looked at Rick as he shoved the rod into his hands, then looked at the river, a flash of shiny green scales and one angry eye emerged on the surface of the water before diving back down into the darkness, his reel singing out as it zipped further away. “Holy hell, he’s huge.” With a tight grip on the handle, he moved his left hand to the reel, the line spool splashing water in his face as he spun it toward him. 

 

“Hold him tight,” Rick urged, watching the way the rod flexed and bent under the heavy weight on the other end of the line. “Let him fight it. He’ll wear himself out eventually and you can pull him in.” He watched as the black fabric of Negan’s long-sleeved t-shirt stretched, the muscles of his broad shoulders bulging, his grimaced face beading with sweat as he fought to keep the massive fish in sight. 

 

“God- _ dammit _ ,” Negan strained, playing the fighting, darting bass with everything he had, giving a little more line each time the fish plunged deeper, spinning the reel again the second he felt the least bit of give. After a fifteen minute tug-of-war, Negan waded down into the shallow water with a net, scooping up his first catch.

 

Carefully taking it out of the net, he pried the hook out of its mouth and held it up, examining it, admiring it himself before holding the trophy-worthy bass up for Rick to see. “Look at  _ that  _ goddamn gollywhopper,” he bragged, his chest puffed out, a proud smile on his face that stretched from ear to ear. “Ain’t he fucking beaut? Whataya think he weighs, Rick? Ten pounds? Fifteen?”

 

“I’d say at least that,” Rick agreed, his eyes the size of teacups as he took in the fish’s size. “I can’t wait to taste him.”

 

“Well here,” he said, walking toward Rick with the fish held out in front of him, a gleam of childish mischief lurking in his eyes. “Why wait? You said it was good luck to kiss the first catch. Pucker up, buttercup!”

 

“No,” Rick laughed nervously, backing away with his hands out in front of him. “ _ You _ have to be the one to kiss it. It’s your fish.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s  _ your  _ rule.” With two fingers hooked in the gills, the chase was on. “Get your ass back here!” he shouted, his feet crunching heavily through the dense blanket of leaves and twigs that covered the forest floor. “He’s got real pretty lips, Rick. Nice and pouty like yours. Come give him a little sugar.”

 

“Stay the hell away from me!” Laughing as he ran, Rick dodged his way, in and out of the trees, zigging and zagging to get away from the crazy man running after him. A quarter mile or so up the hill, he stopped to rest behind the massive trunk of an old white oak.

 

As he stood there, his body seeking anchor against the tree as he gulped in as much air as his lungs would hold, his eyes followed a dark shadow as it crept over the forest floor, blanketing the woods with a dusk-like darkness. 

 

Over the sound of his heavy breathing, even over the thunder of his own heart beating, he couldn’t help but notice how eerily quiet the woods around him had become. Even the birds were quiet. The sounds of Negan stomping through the leaves behind him were long gone. He looked up through the trees. Dark, angry storm clouds were rolling in, churning against one another as they choked out the sun, swallowing up what was left of the blue sky he had admired only moments ago.

 

Knowing Negan wasn’t all that familiar with the woods yet, and knowing all too well how easy it was to get lost in them, he thought it best to find him before the rain set in. “Negan?” he whispered, looking behind every tree, every thicket of poisonous thorn and vine as he headed back down the hill. “You out here?” He tiptoed through the brush, stepping lightly on the fallen leaves and dead branches. “Negan? We should head home soon, before this storm—” Rick’s heart stopped as two tree squirrels scampered past him, scurrying their way up to their nests ahead of the storm.  _ Damn squirrels, _ he thought to himself. _ Damn near scared the shit outta— _

 

“I gotcha!”

 

Rick yelped with fright as Negan pounced on him from behind, both of them tipping over, rolling back down the hill toward the river. When they came to rest near the water’s edge, Negan crawled on top of him, pinning him to the ground with the length of his body, the first rumble of thunder breaking through the heavy, quiet air.

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Rick whispered, a lopsided grin inching up his face under the growing darkness.

 

“Just look at you,” Negan teased him softly, pulling the dried leaves and grass out of his now chaotic tangle of curls. Using the pad of his thumb, he brushed a smudge of dirt away from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a goddamn mess.” He smiled down at him as he pulled another leaf out of his hair, the brittle frond crumbling under the pressure of his fingertips. “And you’re  _ still  _ the prettiest thing on this mountain.”

 

Rick stared up into those smiling eyes of his, spellbound by the hypnotic kaleidoscope of greens and browns looking back at him. No one had ever looked at him the way Negan did. No one had ever cared to. He shook his head and huffed, half laugh, half dismissal as he reached up, his fingers lingering on the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. “I think we’re due for a storm,” he cautioned, another low rumble shaking the ground beneath him.

 

“Let it fucking storm.” 

 

Rick’s heart dipped into his stomach, his lashes drifting shut as the feel of Negan’s deep, husky tone vibrated through his body, rumbling in his chest like the thunder above them. He leaned in closer, close enough that Rick could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek, the spicy tang of his cologne and the clean scent of his skin intoxicating him. Angling his chin, he pressed his lips against his, kissing him hard, tracing the shape of his mouth with his tongue. 

 

But like a scene out of a bad horror movie, he opened his eyes to the repulsive Bubba-like underbite of Negan’s fish, its cold, wet lips opening and closing against his mouth. “Jesus!” Shoving Negan off of him, he jumped to his feet and fell ass-backwards into the cold, shallow water below. He gagged and he spit, he rubbed his lips and tongue raw with the buttoned placket of his shirt, but nothing he did helped to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth. 

 

Negan let out a raucous horse laugh, clutching his belly as he wheezed, his eyes glittering with tears. “Oh shit,” he coughed and sputtered, nearly choking on his own saliva. “You were supposed to kiss him, not fucking make out with him!”

 

Humiliated, Rick lifted himself out of the chilly water and crawled back up the slippery bank of the river. He stayed on his knees for a moment, sulking in angry silence before he smacked the ground with his fist and jumped up, gathering his fishing gear as fast as he could, pulling his line of fish up out of the water. 

 

“Where the hell are you going?” 

 

“Home,” he gritted out, storming up the hill by himself, his long string of fish swinging like a pendulum behind him as he walked. 

 

“Oh,  _ come on _ ,” Negan whined, his hands thrown up in the air. “You’re really gonna get mad over a little rib-tickling?”

 

Too embarrassed now to turn around, Rick stormed ahead at full tilt, his long, agitated strides carrying him up the hill in a hurry. After a few minutes, he could hear the heavy sound of branches crunching behind him, feet moving fast to catch up to him.

 

“Goddammit, Rick!” Negan’s loud voice spooked a flock of cawing crows from their naked, gnarly-limbed tree, scattering them in ten different directions above their heads. “Will you just fucking wait a second?” 

 

Rick stopped and stared down at the ground in front of him, his cold feet buried in a thick layer of dead leaves, the storm winds blowing, slicing through his wet clothes, making him shiver uncontrollably.

 

“Look,” Negan breathed, his voice a strained, wheezy whisper by the time he reached the top of the hill. “I’m sorry.” Dropping his hands to his knees, he bent over and struggled to catch his breath. “I’m too fucking old to be running around these woods like a goddamn buck.” After a minute or two, he raised up and walked closer to him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, a sad, hangdog look on his face. “ _ We’re _ sorry,” he insisted, moving his fish’s lips to mouth the words as he said them. “Are we still friends?” He tilted his head to one side, his lips curving into his best  _ please-don’t-be-mad-at-me  _ smile.

 

Rick stood there, his jaw trembling, his teeth chattering as he tried to collect himself for a moment, the feel of his wet, fishy-smelling clothes clinging to his cold, goose-pimpled flesh making him angry all over again, the sight of that ugly fish making him even angrier. 

 

He wanted to stay angry. But one look. That’s all it took. The second their eyes met, the tall, hard wall of his defenses crumbled to the ground, brick by brick. That smile. That damn, cocky, lip-biting, lopsided smile of his. There was just something about it. Something that made him want to slap him as desperately as he wanted to kiss him.

 

Before he knew it, he was smiling back at him, the two of them, hand-in-hand, heading toward home in the pouring rain.

 

***

 

“I need to run upstairs and change before the worst of the storm hits,” Rick called out over his shoulder as he dropped his string of fish into the sink. “And maybe… ” he sniffed himself, his nose wrinkling in disgust, the grotty stench of the river permeating the entire first level of the cabin. “Maybe I should wash up a little while I’m at it.”

 

“Boy, howdy!” Negan shouted as he shut the front door. He unzipped his soaking wet jacket, shaking the rain water off on the mud rug, hanging it up on the coat rack to dry. “I’ll say you should.” He joined Rick in the kitchen, a big shit-eating grin crossing his face. “You smell like you crawled into that river and made out with one of those damn things or something.” 

 

“ _ Negan _ .” Rick stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned around, his tone was calm, but there was a strong warning embedded in his tenor.

 

“Kidding.” Negan held his hands up before reaching for a paper towel to dry his face. “Shit. I was only kidding. Don’t get your fishnets in a bunch.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Rick shook his head and cursed under his breath, fighting the urge to laugh as he climbed the stairs, closing the bathroom door behind him. 

 

Stripping himself of his wet, smelly clothes, he looked out the double hung, rain-dotted window behind the tub, a bolt of forked lightning branching out across the dark sky, its flash lighting up the dimly lit bathroom for a moment. Spencer always had a habit of counting the seconds between the flash and the rumble to determine the location of a storm.

 

_ One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six... _

 

He could feel the floor tremble under his bare feet as the thunder rolled, the panes of glass jarring inside their wooden frames. He watched the tops of the bare trees twist in the eddying wind, whistling around the corners and over the roof as the gusts grew stronger. 

 

After turning the shower on, cranking up the hot water until the bathroom clouded with steam, he turned to the mirror, plucking the rest of the wet, decayed leaf bits out of his hair. He lifted his eyes as the room lit up again.

 

_ One… Two… Three… Four... _

 

Another grumble of thunder stopped the count. With the storms probably less than a mile away, he hopped into the shower and quickly scrubbed his dirty curls with a squirt of Negan's raspberry shampoo. After rinsing the lather away, squeezing the excess water out of his hair, he reached for the bottle of body wash in front of him, dropping it as a deafening peal of thunder coincided with a blinding flash of light, rocking the cabin on its foundation. Just as he bent to pick it up, the shower curtain was thrown open.

 

“What are you… get out of here!” Rick felt his hip bruise the second it smacked against the hard porcelain bathtub. “Don’t!” He curled his limbs, keeping the right side of his body out of Negan’s eyeshot, jets of hot water pounding against his eyes and face as he reached blindly for something,  _ anything  _ to cover himself. “Don’t look at me! Get out!”

 

“That fucking storm’s right on top of us.”

 

“Get out!” he screamed again, choking on the water as the walls and windows began to rattle, the sound of hailstones beating the cabin like a flurry of bullets. 

 

“Goddammit.” Negan shut the water off and reached up, yanking the shower curtain down off the rod, metal rings flying in all directions, pinging off the tub and toilet. “We don’t have time to discuss this shit.” He covered Rick with the wet fabric, dragging him into the bedroom by force just as a howling gust of wind hurled a massive tree limb through the window, deadly shards of glass, rain water and leaves littering the entire bathroom floor.

 

***

 

The fast moving cold front, now taking its long line of severe weather out to the east coast, had finally weakened, but not without ripping a wide path of destruction through the mountain. The damaging winds sheared the tops off of some of the trees, while uprooting others altogether, taking power lines with them as they came crashing down around the cabin. Like a weak strobe light, the lightning flickered harmlessly overhead to the sound of the now distant thunder.

 

As the happy chatter of frogs and crickets slowly returned to the dark, rain soaked woods, Rick pulled on a pair of pajamas and crawled into his rumpled, unmade bed, pulling the covers up over his head. As he lay there, he could hear Negan in the bathroom, cleaning up the last of the broken glass,  the tinkling sound of splinters being swept across the floor, a tinny noise echoing as it slid from the dustpan into the trashcan.

 

“I think I got it all,” Negan said with an exhausted sigh, setting the battery powered lantern on the nightstand as he sank into the soft mattress. “You okay?”

 

Rick stiffened, a rush of unease skating up his spine as Negan’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Don’t touch me.” He pulled away from him, scooting closer to the edge of the bed. 

 

“What the hell’s your problem?” Negan stood up and walked around the bed, pulling at the damp shirt sticking to his belly. “You’re acting like I committed some fucking crime or something. All I was trying to do was keep you from getting fried by that goddamn lightning or eating a piece of that big ass window in there… which I did.  _ You’re welcome _ ,” he added sarcastically.

 

Rick offered him no response whatsoever.

 

“Hey.” Pulling the quilt down, he squatted eye-level with him, both knees popping and snapping like bubble wrap. “I wasn’t trying to be an asshole, okay?” He pulled a wet lock of hair away from Rick’s red-rimmed eyes. “I knocked and knocked on the door, but I guess you couldn’t hear me.”

 

Still nothing.

 

“You want me to go downstairs? I can… I can go home if you—”

 

“You can go to hell for all I care.” Rick rewarded him with a half second glare before grabbing the quilt and rolling over on his other side, unfurling his emotions by punching his pillow.

 

“What did I do?” Negan went around the bed again. “What did I do that was so fucking wrong? Do you have any idea what that glass would have done to you? Or a bolt of lightning, Rick? It would have… ” He cut himself off and looked away, turning his attentions to an imaginary hangnail on his thumb.

 

“Say it.” Rick sat up and grabbed the lantern, holding it up to the side of his face, illuminating the pink, pitted and ridged flesh covering his cheek and neck. “Go ahead. Say it!”

 

“I wasn't—”

 

“It would've what? Burned me? Turned me into a pathetic heap of disfigured flesh that nobody wants?”

 

“Don't do that, Rick.” An angry color surged into Negan’s cheeks, his dark eyebrows knit tightly above his nose. “Don’t put fucking words in my mouth.”

 

“You're so damn eager to  _ see  _ me?” Throwing the quilt to side, Rick sprang from the bed on impulse, standing in front of him. “Let me make it easy for you.”

 

“Stop it.” Negan stepped to the side, making an attempt to walk around him.

 

Rick moved in front of him again, backing him against the stair rails and blocking his path, forcing him to look at him as he popped the first button on his pajama top. “Let’s just get this over with,” he seethed, his hands shaking over the second button, trembling with the third. “You’ll have a good laugh… then you can get the hell out of here.”

 

“I mean it, Rick.” Negan glanced around the loft, looking for a way out. “This shit’s not funny anymore.” 

 

“I’m not trying to be funny.” Rick reached the last button, unfastening it, a sick feeling crawling up from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke him as he held his shirt closed, gripping the fabric until his knuckles shone as white as the overlapping stripes in his plaid pajamas.

 

With fire in his eyes, he stripped his armour away, revealing a body that hadn’t see the light of day in over a year. One side pasty and colorless, the other littered with thick and gnarly cords of destruction. He stood there with his arms out, bared and ashamed as he spun all the way around for him, facing him again with a mask of fury and pain, tears streaming down his face. “Is this what you wanted?” 

 

Embarrassed by his own tears, Negan looked away. “I didn’t want… I wasn’t trying to…” He couldn’t speak without his voice breaking. “I was worried about you, Rick. I worry about the people I care about. And I care about you.”

 

“How?” Rick whispered, his eyes shining with a new crop of tears. “How can you care about someone like me? This… ” he gestured to the exposed part of his body. “This isn’t all of it. My leg. My—” Feeling sick, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind. You don’t understand how any of this feels.”

 

“You’re wrong, Rick.” Negan gently took his face in one hand, his neck in the other, lifting his chin, holding his gaze as he stroked his tightened, tear-soaked throat with his thumb. “I already told you. I  _ do  _ understand.” With a deep breath, he smiled at Rick, his lips replacing the thumb on his cheek momentarily before letting him go. 

 

Rick took a step back, watching confusedly as Negan lifted the hem of his still-damp shirt, leaving his hair a wild, dark mess as he pulled it off over his head. His eyes glistened with tears all over again as they scanned over what was underneath. Scars. Big scars, little scars, his chest and stomach a maze of untold suffering. 

 

“I think it’s time we had that talk now.”

 

 


End file.
